


feels better biting down

by sevener



Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: Edging, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Psychic Wolves, Thinly Veiled Love Letter to So-Called Alberta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevener/pseuds/sevener
Summary: Obviously Sasha has seen a bondwolf before.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Comments: 94
Kudos: 174





	1. clout game

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the fic where I pretend that being 27 makes you 50, because in the NHL I’m pretty sure it _does_.  
>   
> Alternate title — How To Clown Your Way Through Life: A Memoir, by Sasha Whitaker
> 
> Alternate alternate title — My Mac and Cheese Is Actually Really Fucking Good Fuck You: A Memoir, by Sasha Whitaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally on purpose.

Obviously, Sasha has seen a bondwolf before.

They’re not _that_ rare, especially outside of hockey circles. He can still remember way back in the third grade, there’d been this one girl with a sand-coloured wolf. He’d been jealous as all hell that she got to bring her puppy to school every day, right up until she’d transferred to a special school for the bonded way on the outskirts of town.

Sasha sees wolves every once in a while out on the streets in Edmonton too; silently trailing at the heels of random passerby, conspicuous but inconspicuous for the way they go unacknowledged by the world around them.

It’s not like he’s _still_ jealous - hasn’t been since the third-grade, when the other kids tried to grab at the cute doggy and had come away crying and screaming and clutching bloodied hands, little pin-prick wounds made by sharp puppy teeth. The girl and her wolf hadn’t been in class the next day.

It was always like that when wolves stepped out of line - quick and final. No questions, just a tight leash and an unforgiving hand that came down if you pulled too hard on it.

So. Sasha obviously knows better than to be caught staring at Erik Henson’s bondwolf as she stalks gracefully into the locker-room behind him. It’s just.

Well, he’s seen bondwolves before, but never ones that _big_.

“Canadian timber wolf.”

Sasha startles at the sudden rumble of Erik’s voice, low and gruff beside him. His eyes cut quickly away from the wolf in question to find her bonded glaring at him ( _probably_ glaring, not that Sasha would ever say it out loud, but the man has a serious case of resting bitch face, so there’s always a chance that Erik was really just _looking_ and Sasha was being completely uncharitable here) and feels himself flush guiltily as he registers the words. 

“Oh, uh, cool! Ah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“S’fine,” Erik cuts him off briskly. “People usually ask.”

His tone is casual and unbothered - in no way a reprimand - but Sasha still finds himself ducking away quickly, pulling on his chest protector and pretending that’s the reason why he has to look away first.

Erik’s bondwolf has soft, honey toned eyes that remind Sasha of well-aged whiskey. Erik’s, on the other hand, are a brown so deep they’re nearly black.

Sasha is pretty sure that was strike one, which gives him absolutely no plausible deniability when Erik catches him at it _again_ the very next week.

Erik doesn’t even have to say anything this time, just shoots Sasha a look that he has _zero_ trouble interpreting. He’s seen it often enough on the ice to know.

_We gonna have a fucking problem?_

The startlingly real possibility that Sasha is about to get his shit rocked in front of his team, and God and, _oh fuck,_ Connor Freaking McDavid, registers with a sharp burst of adrenaline. Sasha’s pretty sure there’s no coming back from getting your ass kicked a mere five feet away from The Saviour of Edmonton Hockey (Version 2.0). That’s a sure career-ender right there.

Probably he shouldn’t even be able to formulate words right now, in the face of Erik Henson’s piercing, slightly murderous gaze, but Sasha is nothing if not a man apparently born without a single shred of self-preservation - hello, professional hockey career - so of course what he actually does is open his mouth and start trying to explain himself. Badly.

“I really don’t- I mean, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, I swear. Um, your wolf is just, like, really beautiful?”

Shockingly, that awkward compliment doesn’t do much by way of making Erik’s face look any less deadly.

Sasha winces, “Not in a creepy way! I swear I’m not one of those guys. I was just like, mildly distracted by the presence of a giant greywolf standing two feet away from me… but not in a bad way! Obviously, I don’t even _mind-_ ”

Sasha shuts his mouth with a snap, watching in fascination as Erik’s angry expression drops suddenly, one hand coming up to pinch (with maybe a touch too much world weariness) at the bridge of his twice-broken nose. Like he’s trying to ease a sudden tension headache. 

“Easy there kid. I get it. No need to yap my ear off.”

For about one second Sasha deflates, relieved that Erik no longer seems immediately interested in rendering him limb from body, before his brain catches up to exactly what Erik just said.

“Hey!” Sasha protests. “Who the fuck are you calling kid?”

Erik drops his hand, seemingly genuinely surprised by the follow-up question. Probably wondering why the hell Sasha is still talking. 

Him and everyone else.

“There’s no way you’re a day older than twenty-two,” Erik reasons, matter-of-fact, and Sasha can’t help but cringe a bit.

“Twenty-one until next month,” he admits. “But c’mon, dude, that’s an adult in every goddamn country! And you’re only like twenty-seven!”

Erik’s mouth ticks up by like, _maybe_ half a centimetre at the corner, and Sasha finds himself tracking the movement, strangely satisfied.

“Only twenty-seven huh? Feels older sometimes.” Erik grumbles to himself, rolling his shoulder pointedly, like it’s an old war wound or something. His wolf looks up at that, interested for the first time in their conversation. She sniffs once at Erik, just as pointedly, and Sasha didn’t know it was even possible for wolves to look that unimpressed, let alone _smug_ and unimpressed. 

Sasha grins, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all man. You _old guys_ make it sound so dire, acting like you qualify for a fucking seniors discount at the ripe-old-age of _thirty_.”

There’s a soft _wuff_ of air that Sasha is pretty sure means Erik’s wolf is _laughing,_ like _right_ next to him _,_ and holy shit isn’t that a weird thought. A good-weird thought. 

By the time Sasha’s done marvelling at his own life Erik’s not even looking at him anymore, but that doesn’t mean that Sasha can’t see the actual, honest to God, fully fledged grin on his face. Which, _thank fuck,_ ‘cuz otherwise he’d have to seriously consider leaving the guy alone for a minute. 

No fucking chance of that now though.

So, Sasha is definitely not the type of guy to make waves.

He’s no Connor McDavid (fuck, he doesn’t even rank an Oscar Klefbom, as nice as _that’d_ be). The media wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he got sent down or traded or if his career ended tomorrow. And honestly, Sasha’s pretty much fine with that. He’s happy just to be here, to do his dream job and do it well. Chin down, eyes up, one more body going over the boards.

Hell, he can’t _afford_ to make waves even if he wanted to, so when he notices it, he doesn’t let himself say anything. But he does notice it.

The way Erik keeps himself apart, a careful foot or two of distance between himself and any other teammate. How he takes an extra lap around the crease if he’s on-ice for a goal, letting the celly happen without him, only skating in afterwards to offer a light fist bump or pat on the back. Sasha would bet money that Erik has never scented another player on the team - his literal _pack,_ as far as the wolf is concerned _-_ hell, he’s probably never even allowed himself to ask.

None of the guys really seem to have a problem with that distance - some encourage it, even. Sasha’s familiar with the theory of course. That bonding to a wolf makes you more aggressive, less able to control yourself. Animal feeling bleeding over the human parts of the mind, until there’s nothing left but primal instinct. No thanks to the many D-list horror flicks responsible for that stupid cliche about bondwolves going feral, sending their partners right over the edge with them.

Point is, Sasha notices; he notices and thinks it’s a total crock of shit. Like yeah, he doesn’t actually _know_ that much about being bonded, but he has google, and like, basic powers of observation, and maybe a little bit of a bleeding heart. But really, it’s not all that hard to see through Erik’s whole lone-wolf routine. 

‘Cuz like, it’s _got_ to be a routine, right?

Sasha really hopes that’s not just his own wishful thinking - that Erik keeps his distance out of necessity, but not desire. Otherwise there’s a small chance _he’s_ going to come out of this clutching his bloodied hand, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself.

Sasha’s like, 85% sure that’s not what’s going to happen though, so the next time he walks into the locker-room to find Erik already at his stall, still fully dressed and engaged in what appears to be a fight to the death with his headphone wires, Sasha doesn’t let himself hesitate - he just walks right up and wraps an arm around the wide span of Erik’s shoulders, squeezing once in greeting.

It’s _literally_ nothing, the kind of hello he’d give anyone else in the room without thinking twice, but by the look on Erik’s face you’d think that Sasha had just spontaneously stripped naked and given him a lap-dance in front of their whole team. Which is not something Sasha’s thinking about, or has ever thought about, or will ever spend time, late at night in his bed, thinking about. Definitely not.

“Should’ve gone for the airpods man,” Sasha says with a grin, nudging their elbows together to indicate the tangled wires still clutched between Erik’s fists. He carefully avoids looking at Erik’s crazy eyes, and definitely doesn’t look down at the wolf standing behind them either, but he does tentatively register that there’s no growling or snapping of teeth to be heard, so that’s probably good.

It seems to take about 30 full seconds for Erik’s brain to reboot, and then he physically shakes himself and regains the power of speech.

“Airpods have terrible sound quality,” he mutters gruffly, pulling again at the knots in his hands. Sasha tries very hard not smile like a lunatic, but like, _holy shit._ Erik doesn’t even look that pissed _,_ and he hasn’t even asked Sasha to fuck off. At least, not out loud. It doesn’t count unless he says it with his mouth, Sasha’s pretty sure.

“Sure, but they’ll do wonders for your clout game bro. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you could _seriously_ stand to step up your drip,” Sasha says with exaggerated enthusiasm, just to be an idiot. Just ‘cuz he _is_ an idiot.

It makes Erik and his wolf huff at the exact same time, which was the point.

“Don’t talk to me about _clout_ , Whitaker,” Erik orders, except that he’s like, totally smiling a bit, so Sasha happily takes the opportunity to inform him of all the other ways he could stand to add a little special sauce to his style game, and doesn’t stop until Erik facewashes him into silence before warm-ups.

After that, he pretty much can’t help himself.

Sasha’s always been a hands-on kinda dude: he has literally zero qualms about getting all up in people’s business. If there’s a better way to show your buddies you appreciate ‘em, Sasha hasn’t thought of it.

He’s been real thankful for Nealsy out here, who usually lets Sasha hang off his shoulders in between drills, even if he does catch a fair amount of chirping from the team for it. Nealsy just seems to _get it,_ how Sasha wants to be facewashed and man-handled and crushed into the boards. How it keeps him nice and settled in his skin.

You wouldn’t know it just by looking at him, (what with the gruffness, and the frowning, and the way his perpetually clinging designer t-shirts imply not just muscle but solid-carved granite underneath) but it turns out that Erik is _excellent_ for all kinds of leaning, clinging and general skin-settling activities. 

Sasha holds his breath the first couple of times he bodies his way into Erik’s space - knocking their shoulders together as they walk into Rogers Place, shoving the armrest up on long flights and pressing closer to show Erik some stupid instagram video he inevitably won’t care for, leaning with his full weight on Erik’s back as they line up for breakfast because the team has collectively banned Sasha from chugging RedBulls before 9am - but after a month of being _allowed_ , with Erik sighing and submitting to it all, Sasha realizes he doesn’t have a reason to hesitate.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ Whitaker,” Erik wheezes.

Sasha grins and adjusts his grip, putting his weight behind the movement in an attempt to bring Erik down at the knee. They’re almost of a height, but where Sasha has only recently filled out his own tall frame, Erik has the advantage of long established muscle (and criminally huge thighs). Erik holds firm against the pull of Sasha’s body, twisting to get a hand around—

Sasha blinks up at the ceiling, coughing up concrete-flavoured dust and trying to get his breath back from where it’s been knocked out of him. Sometimes it’s almost _too_ easy to forget Erik’s unreal reflexes - his strength and his speed - but then other times…

Sasha grins up at Erik’s smug face, coughing. “You dirty fucking bastard.”

…other times it’s all Sasha can think about.

“Oh sorry, were you actually trying that time?” Erik grins back, already crouched down at Sasha’s side and helping him up to his feet. It seems to take exactly no effort at all for Erik to lift all 200-plus pounds of Sasha off the floor, but it leaves Sasha breathless. 

One of Erik’s big, calloused hands lingers over the length of his spine in a soothing motion to stabilize him, and Sasha leans into it, just a little. He can’t help but savour the times when Erik touches him _back,_ when it seems like maybe, just maybe, Sasha isn’t all alone in this, isn’t the only one who thinks too hard about the next time he can get away with a hand on Erik’s knee, a friendly bro-hug or maybe even press himself to the warmth of Erik’s side in the backseat of an overstuffed Uber-

The moment (and it’s definitely a moment, even if not a _moment_ moment, Sasha will take it) is cut short by a soft clicking noise from down the concrete corridor, just before a flash of grey rounds the corner.

Sasha straightens, extending his hand in greeting and getting the wet press of a cold nose in return. 

“Hey Taiga, how’s it going?”

Obviously the wolf says nothing back, but Erik always seems quietly pleased when Sasha addresses her like a person. Which like, she pretty much _is_. Even if there weren’t an obvious intelligence behind those watchful yellow eyes, Sasha really only had to witness the one fight between the two of them to know that Taiga is definitely _not_ Erik’s puppet. (And while Sasha would absolutely give money to know what they’d been beefing over, he’d give even more to never have to repeat the experience again. That had been a tense fucking couple of days.)

“Guess we should be getting back,” says Erik.

Sasha nods. If Taiga’s come to get them that means they have about five minutes before they need to be geared up for pre-game warmies, and preferably _not_ looking like they’ve just been rolling around in a dusty hallway for half an hour.

Sasha eyes Erik and Taiga before rolling to the balls of his feet, tongue poking out playfully from between his teeth. 

“Race ya?” he asks, puckish.

Erik groans. “No-”

But Sasha is already off, leaving Erik laughing in the dust at the end of the hallway, Taiga hot on his heels and gaining.


	2. biscuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past city limits.

It takes, like, forever for Erik to invite Sasha to his house.

To be clear, it’s not that Sasha _expects_ to be invited over or something. Like, yeah, they have plenty in common, but Sasha is pretty sure that Erik doesn’t play COD or Chel or Fortnite (he probably like, fixes up old old cars and whittles wood in his free time or something, he’s that old school, for real), and even though they’ve both been binging The Witcher for the past two weeks, Sasha is fairly certain that if they ever tried to watch it together Erik would end up strangling him, because Sasha has like, a _slight_ problem with not being able to shut the fuck up when he should, while Erik’s more of the I Need Complete Silence While I Contemplate The Meaning of This Camera Angle type.

And it’s not like Sasha invites Erik over either. He would, except, well- first he was living out ofa hotel, but even now he’s pretty sure his bachelor pad is just a little _too_ full of empty Molson cans, novelty drinking games and discarded tape balls for his pride to withstand the idea of Erik in the midst of it all. He can already imagine the exact sniff of derision Taiga would give his sagging couch (it’s _really_ comfortable, okay?) if she ever had the indignity of standing next to it. God knows she wouldn’t be caught dead actually sitting on it.

Given all of that, he’s just a _little_ caught off guard when, after they royally spank the Canucks at home, Erik catches him before he can duck out of the locker room and says,

“Hey, Whits, I was wondering, uh. You doing much this weekend?”

Erik doesn’t _do_ nervous, exactly, but he looks a little more keyed up than usual, worrying at a bit of dry skin next to his thumbnail as he speaks. That lasts for about one second before he determinedly turns his black-eyed gaze on Sasha, and then suddenly _he’s_ the one feeling nervous.

“Uh, no?” Sasha says uncertainly, the mental calendar in his mind coming up suddenly blank. “I mean, like, Juj said something about maybe hitting up ATLAS for drinks? So nothing too serious.”

Erik nods like he was expecting as much, even as Sasha struggles to remember whether JJ actually said this weekend or the next week, and then he clears his throat awkwardly.

Erik doesn’t do nervous, and he _definitely_ doesn’t do awkward, so that gets Sasha’s attention instantly.

“Well, if you’ve got some free time, me and Taiga are going out to Sherwood Park.”

It takes a long couple seconds for Sasha to recognize that as an invitation, and then he’s smiling so wide he can feel the strain of it in his cheeks.

“Really man?”

Erik nods. 

“I’d _love_ to, dude, me and Juj can totally reschedule,” he says easily, fifty-percent sure now that their plans actually were for next week anyway. He can check his phone later. The boys will survive a weekend without him. 

“Great,” says Erik, already back to cool and collected, “Taiga’s been wanting to show you the running-lands for a while here.”

Taiga, standing cooly at their feet, gives Erik a long-suffering look at that. Sasha snorts.

“There’s no way I’m winning a race against her out there, hey?”

Taiga turns her hard stare towards Sasha while Erik translates. “If memory serves you’ve only “won” against her once,” the air quotes heavily implied in Erik’s voice, and Taiga _whuffs_ haughtily to emphasize, “And that was _only_ because of that blind corner and you know it.”

Sasha grins, wishing he’d put down some money on that race or something, because that trick hasn’t worked _once_ since.

“Sure,” Sasha says in the most shit-eating tone he can manage, holding his hands up in faux-surrender. “Call it a fluke if it makes you feel better, I’ll always know the truth.”

Erik rolls his eyes to the ceiling like he’s already regretting this. Taiga fixes him with a cold-eyed stare, ruthless.

“Aww,” Sasha coos. “Did the big, bad wolf lose to a puny little human?”

Taiga just sniffs at him, but he can see it in her eyes (and in the way that Erik winces behind her). He is so, _so_ dead this weekend.

Erik’s place out in Sherwood Park is big (this terrible smog grey craftsman style thing with a hundred-and-one rooms, and colour-coordinated furniture thrown about in a way that makes it instantly obvious that Erik over-payed a local interior decorator to throw it there for him) but the yard is even _bigger_. There’s literal acres of land behind the place, leading directly back into a small pine forest. Taiga jumps out of the truck bed as soon as they pull up the driveway, disappearing behind the tree line before Sasha’s even gotten his door open.

“Her den’s back there,” Erik explains, grabbing both of their bags out of the cab. Sasha forgets to politely protest as he takes in the view. Miles and miles of flatlands that turn from yellow canola to pine trees and then back again, abrupt lines carved out to show where one property ends and another begins, like a patchwork quilt of crop and flower.

“C’mon Whits,” Erik calls from the doorstep of his McMansion. Sasha realizes he’s still standing in the middle of the driveway like an idiot. “Barbecue’s waiting.”

The house is cold when they step inside, the smell of fresh paint and floor cleaner screaming _Brand New!_ even though Erik’s said he’s owned it for a couple years now. It’s the kind of big house that never really feels lived in, the kind with a dining room _and_ a living room _and_ a foyer. The fact that it’s just one guy and his wolf occupying almost three thousand square feet probably doesn’t help either.

“This place is nice,” Sasha says, because he has a feeling that his conspicuous silence is starting to border on impolite.

Erik smiles a bit, “Yeah, it is. You hate it though.”

Sasha can’t help but grin back at the way Erik obviously sees right through him, but he still feels compelled to argue, “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Erik’s smile stays easy, and he leads Sasha towards the kitchen. Everything is pristine and marbled, and the backsplash is boring as hell. Sasha gets HGTV standard with his cable, okay. He has opinions. 

“I don’t love it either,” Erik admits. “I really just bought it for the space.”

They’re only a half hour out of the city, but all that Sasha can see out of the tall, arched windows is trees, trees, and more trees. Taiga’s probably having the time of her life out there.

“Which just makes me hate it more, honestly,” Erik gestures with the head of broccoli he’s pulled from a hefty reusable bag. There’s enough meat stacked in the fridge to feed a small army - presumably in all of Taiga’s favourite cuts. It’s actually got Sasha feeling a little relieved to see that vegetables are also welcome to the table. “I wanted something a bit… cozier, y’know, but still with room for the- um, for guests.”

_For the pack,_ Sasha fills in. He wonders how many of the guys have ever even been out here. Wonders if maybe none of them have.

“Can I help with anything?” he asks, trying to cover for the semi-awkward silence that follows. Sasha never knows whether he’s allowed to prod at the little sore spots Erik seems to have when he shows them. Wouldn’t really know how to in the first place.

“No, please, just have a seat,” Erik herds Sasha away from the cutting boards. “Or, here, you can uncork the wine. No offence, but I enjoy cooking and I’ve seen what passes for gourmet on your instagram, kid.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Sasha says dramatically, accepting the bottle-opener with an injured look. “Erik Henson, closet food snob and Hater of Innovation. Who knew?”

Erik’s grin turns sharp, “What you do to mac ’n cheese _really_ isn’t as impressive as you think it is.”

“Oh how you wound me,” Sasha says, heart-clutching, as he finally pulls the cork free of what he’s sure is a stupidly expensive bottle. Erik fetches two bulbous glasses from one of the eight-hundred identical stained-oak cabinets and places them on the counter in front of Sasha.

He can tell he over-pours by the ensuing amused silence from Erik’s end. 

“Whatever dude,” Sasha says, covering his embarrassment by taking a deep swig. He hates that the wine really _is_ good; smooth and rich on his tongue. “I bet I can drink you under the table, no problem.”

Erik raises both of his eyebrows mockingly, and Sasha is just about to take up that challenge when Taiga comes bounding through the Taiga-sized flap door that leads to the deck. 

“She can sense when you’re about to do something stupid,” Erik teases, moving back to the kitchen counter and his cutting boards. Sasha watches him slice onions with an aggressive precision before his attention is recaptured by Taiga nosing at his leg expectantly.

Erik only gives them an amused look over the battlefield of dismembered vegetables he’s working on, so Sasha shrugs and grabs his wine glass, following her outside to the deck where the sun is just starting to crest towards the hills, the world around them turning from pale blue to bright gold. It really does seem endless out here; no buildings or towers to break up the horizon, the infinite sky curving wide overhead like the dome of a snowglobe. 

Taiga leads him off the deck and into the yard, where everything instantly smells wetter and greener despite the late season. The ground under his feet slopes gently down towards the tree line. Taiga trots proudly ahead, cutting a path through the thick pines but always staying in sight. It’s several degrees colder without the fading autumn sunlight to warm him, and Sasha spares a thought for his jacket - still draped over the back of a kitchen chair inside - and feels faintly ridiculous trudging through the woods in his t-shirt with a giant wine glass and nothing else.

There’s an over-sized greywolf waiting impatiently for him up ahead though, so Sasha valiantly plows on until he finally catches up with her. She’s standing at the foot of a huge felled tree, the upturned roots forming one side of a hollow shelter that reminds Sasha of something a beaver might build. Erik probably helped with it. The thought is pretty endearing.

“Is this your den?” Sasha asks redundantly. “It’s nice.”

Taiga gives him a look that’s more amused than offended, and Sasha despairs momentarily at how familiar he’s gotten at reading wolf facial expressions that he can tell. Then Taiga ducks into the mouth of the den.

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure I can fit.”

Her eyes are very yellow in the shade of the hollow, and she whines imploringly at Sasha, like he’s breaking her heart by refusing to crawl under a dead tree with her.

“Fine, fine, I’ll come in.”

He sets his wine glass down in the dirt with a mental apology to Erik, because he’s sure that’s like, wine sacrilege or something, and crawls into the den.

It’s actually pretty roomy inside, which Sasha guesses makes sense given how big Taiga really is, but it’s still pretty small for a grown-ass professional athlete _and_ a giant wolf. Sasha hopes he can skip the rest of the house tour.

He turns back to Taiga to find her already staring at him, lips pulled back from her teeth. Her very sharp teeth. Sasha experiences a single second of petrifying fear at the sight, before he registers that none of her body language is at all aggressive. Her ears are standing straight up, and her tail is _swishing_ softly behind her. She’s… she’s _smiling_ at Sasha. It’s fucking terrifying.

Sasha smiles tentatively back, and Taiga makes a pleased yipping noise. He gives her two thumbs up in return. Wolf communication, it turns out, is _so_ freaking easy.

It isn’t until they’re almost back at the house that Sasha remembers the wine glass he left sitting in the dirt next to Taiga’s den. Whoops. Hopefully those weren’t _expensive_ bulbous wine glasses.

He decides to do the right thing and manfully hides out on the lawn with Taiga despite the cold, and she brings him various sticks to inspect while Erik finishes grilling steaks on the deck. Sasha makes it a game by sorting them into nonsensical piles for her to try to figure out, but he’s pretty sure that by the end she’s the one humouring _him_. 

By the time the food’s ready Sasha has forgotten what he’s forgotten to tell Erik, and he comes more than willingly when called to eat. Erik intercepts him at the sliding glass doors.

“You planning on bringing all that dirt to my table?”

Sasha looks down. His formerly white t-shirt is dusted with grass and dirt and bits of wood, and his pants have fared even worse. Sasha smiles sheepishly and tries to shake the worst of it off, ends up banging his ankle on the deck railing for all his trouble.

Erik rolls his eyes at him but finally relents and waves Sasha inside to get changed. The guest room is nice - neutral, with probably-local art of the rocky mountains hanging on the wall. Sasha pulls on a new shirt, a soft maroon henley that he knows brings out the flecks of green in his eyes, spends a not-inconsiderable amount of time fussing with his hair in the ensuite bathroom before locking eyes with his reflection in the mirror. _Be normal_ , he orders himself sternly, _don’t blow it_.

Dinner is delicious, obviously better than anything Sasha could ever muster up for himself. He snaps a picture for instagram, mostly the steaks and Erik’s big hands in the background. He can’t think of a caption to add and Erik is looking distinctly amused from across the table, so he quickly slaps on a filter and posts it, unexplained, to his story. 

He has no idea why he was expecting this to be awkward. It isn’t. Erik is funny, in his own quiet way, and he lets Sasha rant about golf and MMA and how Florida roadies are the worst, actually. He even argues back when Sasha complains about the time jumps in The Witcher (it’s _confusing_ , is all he’s saying, okay? and no, it has nothing to do with his short attention span; it was an objectively bad story-telling choice).

They do the dishes together and then sit down to watch a movie, sinking close on Erik’s overstuffed couch. Taiga’s head is heavy where it rests on one of Sasha’s feet, and he knows he’ll have pins and needles but he doesn’t move it. 

The whole thing feels kind of incredibly domestic, and Sasha spends more than a good half of the movie trying not to be overly aware of Erik’s body next to him (Erik sitting with one leg folded over his knee, arms spread over the back of the couch. Erik’s hand nearly touching his shoulder. Erik unfolding a soft, chunky-knit blanket and throwing it over Sasha’s legs when he starts fidgeting restlessly). So much so that he doesn’t even worry about talking obnoxiously because he can barely focus on the screen to begin with. He’s seen Inception about a million times anyway, and as much as he loves seeing Tom Hardy in a suit the rest of it is fucking _long_. Sasha accidentally falls asleep on Erik’s shoulder before the third act.

He half-wakes to the feeling of being lifted by strong arms, and the distinct impression that his face is smashed against someone’s neck. He gets as far as noting that the neck smells really incredibly good before he’s distracted by the sensation of a soft cloud (or maybe that’s a mattress) beneath him, and then he’s sinking back under again.

It snows lightly overnight, so they pull on boots and light jackets the next morning after coffee (and eggs, and meal-plan-violating bacon, and freaking amazing biscuits that Sasha is pretty sure Erik made _by hand_ , which doesn’t even bear thinking about). Erik unearths some mud-stained jeans and what looks like a hand-knit sweater from somewhere: with his brown beard and broad shoulders, he ends up kinda looking like one of those old Canadian Lumberjack postcards. It’s the most dressed down Sasha’s seen him outside of sweats and workout gear - he even pulls on one of those fur-lined hats with the ear flaps, and Sasha wastes no time in roasting him mercilessly for it.

Erik forgets his to-go mug of coffee in the kitchen, so Sasha waits alongside Taiga in the mud room, the late-autumn bulk of her pressed to his side as they watch a V of geese fly towards the pale horizon. He’s not really thinking much of anything when his hand reaches up to stroke the fur between Taiga’s ears.

She pushes into the touch instantly, her big head heavy in his palm as he scratches an itch under her neck. Sasha smiles and resists baby-talking her like he would a small dog, because he knows thats a sure way to get a nip on the elbow.

Next thing he knows Taiga’s flopped down beside him, belly up, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, and he shifts on his knees to better reach her. 

The back of Sasha’s neck prickles when a throat clears behind him.

He freezes, hand hovering just inches above Taiga’s belly. Erik is leaning silently against the wall, levelling the both of them with a critical look. Taiga returns it by wagging her tail guilelessly, head cocked.

“Hmm,” is all he says.

It’s not a happy noise. 

Sasha moves instantly to scramble to his feet, only to have Taiga turn gold eyes on him, imploring him for tummy-rubs with a big, dopey grin. Sasha glances back at Erik, torn.

“Sorry, um, is this…” O _kay/Rude/An indictable offence?_ Sasha isn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence.

Erik frowns at him some more. “I’m not the boss of her,” is his curt reply.

There’s a deep-furrowed crease between his eyebrows, and his arms are crossed over his chest.

“Uh,” Sasha responds intelligently.

Taiga whines from the floor, twisting to show more of her belly. Almost without conscious thought Sasha finds himself again petting coarse fur. He tries to feel bad about upsetting Erik, but Taiga makes it hard - she just looks so pleased about getting scritches. 

Erik rolls his eyes and eventually strides past them, right out the door without another word.

It’s not until he’s hopped into the cab of the truck that Sasha remembers: you’re really not supposed to put your hands all over someone’s bondwolf unless you’re family, or better yet - mated. Shit.

The running-lands, as Erik had called them, are a vast stretch of mostly flat, mostly grassy open field, dotted haphazardly with the occasional bush and aspen tree. It’s beautiful and cold, the air metallic with the first hints of a harsh Albertan winter to come. There’s mud and a dusting of half-melted snow, dry grass gone a pale yellow underneath. Taiga cuts a clean line off towards the horizon, and Sasha tries to follow at pace for only a few minutes before he nearly falls on his ass, sliding on the frozen ground.

“Fuck,” he pants. “Okay, I am _so_ not catching her, am I?”

Erik shakes his head and laughs, good mood seemingly restored after the short drive. “Why do you like racing her so much anyway?”

Sasha drops into step next to him, picking carefully over the uneven ground as they watch Taiga weave, quick and graceful, far up ahead.

“I mean,” He shrugs. “It’s like the language we have in common, right?”

Erik stares at him. The watery autumn sun is directly overhead now, so he’s squinting a little, and in the sunlight his dark eyes are shiny cross-sections of liquid amber, encasing some complicated emotion that Sasha can’t even begin to parse. He looks fierce, windswept, _handsome,_ and as usual Sasha finds himself looking away first, unable to stand that gaze for too long. Worried that all the warmth curling in his stomach will show on his face.

They walk several minutes in silence, a murder of crows flapping and cawing ominously in the near-dead trees behind them before Erik grinds to a halt, one a hand on Sasha’s arm to stop him, and Sasha’s heart jumps immediately into his throat.

“Hey I-” Erik clears his throat, muscles working behind brown stubble. If it weren’t for the beard Sasha might be able to see him chewing his lip. 

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Erik says. “For coming out here, and- It’s been real nice to have you around. It’s been a while since I’ve had any reason to bring someone up…”

Sasha smiles with his lips pressed together, patient. It’s taking everything in him to hold back, to give Erik room to speak instead of just launching himself at the man, because this sounds like…

“And I just want you to know that you’re always welcome,” Erik continues, voice steady except for the slight stutter-step, words faltering here and there. “We’d love to have you, and we- I mean Taiga’s taken a real shine to you, I know you’ve noticed, and that’s really, just _so_ important to me. Any time you’d like to come around, or come out here to see her, you just let me know and we’ll make it happen.”

And Sasha _really_ hopes it doesn’t show on his face, the way his stupid, embarrassing, over-eager hope winks out like a light. It’s his own fault, too, for assuming. For thinking _maybe_ , when obviously _not_.

Which is, like, fine. But it still stings just a little, because now Sasha’s wondering how long exactly it’s been about _this_ for Erik. Their friendship - Sasha didn’t realize Erik might’ve been humouring him this whole time for Taiga’s sake, so that his wolf would have somebody to hang out with. Didn’t realize that that was even something he should’ve been worried about.

“I really appreciate that,” Sasha makes himself say, grin only slightly wooden in his mouth. “I’ve had a great time this weekend too, so, thanks for having me.”

Erik doesn’t frown, but his gaze goes a little sharp, so Sasha guesses he didn’t do the best job at keeping all of his unwieldy, unnecessary, Feelings-with-a-capital-F from showing on his face.

“You know I mean-” Erik starts again uncertainly. “Obviously _I_ really like spending time with you too. Sorry, y’know, I probably don’t say that enough, but having you on the team this season has been great. It’s really… It’s just been great.”

Erik knocks their shoulders together, and Sasha deflates, tension sliding off of him like oil, pooling greasy and forgotten alongside their footprints in the pale yellow grass. He just doesn’t have it in him to begrudge Erik this - even if he tacked the last bit on like a postscript, Sasha knows he means it. 

If there’s one thing Sasha has come to know about Erik in all of this, it’s that he’s _good_. Truly, genuinely, good. The kind of guy you can lean all your weight on, the kind of guy who makes you want to crawl on your hands and knees and give _everything -_ all of you, because you know he’d never ask you for it. Because you know he’d keep it safe. Unfortunately, this new knowledge has just made Sasha want to burrow even closer, to lodge himself deep as a splinter under skin, however unwanted.

Because that’s all it _can_ be. If he wants to keep this (and he does, so badly, a dog with his jaw locked stubbornly around a bone), then everything else can’t matter - he’ll make sure it doesn’t. He’ll swallow it, bury it - keep that shit under lock and fucking key. Smile back at Erik and fail to trip him down against the snow, act like there’s no catch to his breath when Erik moves in close to get him back.

There are worse things in the world than having to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoy this one! As usual expect running edits, and hopefully an update by the end of the week (bear with me on this multi-chapter business, I'm not totally in my element here). :)


	3. who the fuck likes new jersey?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik reaches back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These middle chapters are a bit on the shorter side because the last one is unavoidably a behemoth - like nearly half the final word count. Speaking of, I've updated the rating to reflect the rating of the work as a whole, but that E won't apply until the final chapter! Just so y'all know what you're getting into.  
> That all said, enjoy!

So, like. Fuck the New Jersey Devils.

Like seriously, Fuck Them.

Sasha grits his teeth, not looking at the clock, not looking at the scoreboard, not looking at his teammates beside him. There’s only a couple minutes left in the game now, and there’s no way he’s getting back out there. He’s been benched for most of the third already.

And he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. Sasha’s not a finesse player to begin with, but it’s been mistake after mistake tonight. Passes going right into skates, shots so wonky that he quickly stopped aiming for the goal altogether, no confidence to do anything bolder than playing the puck up, not to mention the fucking _turnovers_ …

It was like he’d lost the ability to read the play on the ice. Nobody was moving in a way that made sense to him anymore. He’d turned the puck over twice in the neutral zone before flubbing a passoff right in their own D zone, the puck scooped away from him before he could blink. Next thing he knew the Devils had a three on one, and then another goal on the board.

It’s not like it’s just him out there - and Sasha knows that, knows it’s a team effort, but while everyone else was just struggling to swim in this game, _he_ was the lead weight that sunk them all down to ruin. His job was to support the guys who could _actually_ win this for them, and instead he spent the whole game undoing everything they were working for.

The roar of the Jersey crowd is salt in the wound when the final buzzer sounds, too loud in Sasha’s ears, pronouncing the game, finally, mercifully, dead.

He keeps his head down as they all march back to the visitor’s room, not wanting to see the other guys’ faces, the looks of pity or anger or disgust. 

Sure, he should be telling himself that this was only _one_ bad game, because it was, but Sasha is all too aware of how replaceable he is, how easy it would be to put in a call to Bakersfield and bring up some other fourth line grinder who can do exactly what Sasha does - do what Sasha was _supposed_ to do, tonight.

He doesn’t mean to slam his helmet down in his stall, or to get tangled up in his sweat-soaked jersey, but that’s what happens. Sasha breathes carefully out of his nose, letting his anger and frustration swell up and then deflate, collapsing like a sad party balloon left too long in the rafters. He knows the one thing that could still make this fucking night worse would be to pitch a bitch-fit in front of his team. You know - the one he just hung out to fucking dry.

“Hey. Take it easy there.”

Erik’s rough-tumbled voice behind him, pitched soft and low. One big hand pressing down on Sasha’s shoulder, almost at the nape of his neck. Heavy. Consoling. 

Suffocating.

Sasha shrugs Erik’s hand off with a jerk, for once not in the mood for anyone to touch him, hell, for anyone to even look at him. The only thing he wants at the moment is to disappear, to sink right through the fucking floor like he was never here at all.

He expects Erik to be cowed by his prickly reaction, always the one following after Sasha’s cues for when to touch, but instead he get this determined look on his face like Sasha just personally dared him to do better. Sasha rolls his eyes. Leave it to a hockey player to take a goddamn request to fuck off as a personal invitation to insert yourself into someone else’s business.

Erik leaves him alone for the bus ride back to their hotel, but Sasha can feel his gaze once they pass through the lobby like it’s a physical touch, the top of his spine prickling as they take the elevator up.

When Sasha moves to exit at his floor Erik stops him with one hand on the back of his neck, that same gentle grip he’d used in the locker room.

This time, though, it’s a little closer to comforting. Sasha bites his lip. He wants nothing more than to collapse into the sterile embrace of his hotel bed and sleep for a week, and he’s way too aware of Sheahan in the elevator with them, watching their little stand off go down. He thinks about taking another step forward, about shaking Erik’s hand off. It’s what he should do.

The doors _swish_ closed in front of him. 

Erik’s room is only two floors up, two quiet beeps and then a _ding,_ and then they’re all stepping out into the hallway, footsteps barely muffled by the well-worn carpet. 

Sheahan goes off to his room without comment, and Sasha tries not to let himself worry about it. Really, it’s the least of his concerns right now if the team has a problem with _this_ of all things - Sasha will own his fuckups where they come, but being friends with Erik absolutely isn’t one of them. If the team has a problem with that, they’re cordially invited to stick it.

Erik unlocks the door to his room with a soft click, and Sasha shuffles in at the insistence of a hand at the small of his back. One of the bedside lamps is already lit, casting the otherwise lifeless room in soft, buttery tones. Taiga is curled into a tight ball at the foot of the queen bed - totally ignoring the long, flat cushion set conspicuously on the floor in the corner for her - and her head raises in greeting as they walk in, gold eyes blinking slowly.

Before Sasha can open his mouth to ask _What now?_ Erik pushes him towards the bed, the one bed, the only bed in the room. The one queen-size bed that was most definitely not designed to accommodate two bigass professional hockey players with much room in between. Sasha swallows against his suddenly dry throat.

The back of his knees hit the side of the frame and then he’s on his ass, bouncing a bit on the soft-but-somehow-actually-still-too-firm hotel mattress. He flails uselessly for a second before he notices Taiga approaching him with predatory focus, and then there’s a 60 kilo greywolf all but bullying him into sitting back against the pillows, snuffling at his face and ears.

Erik looms at the foot of the bed, stripping off his tie as he watches them. There’s a soft, fond smile on his face, crinkling the edges of his brown eyes. Sasha ducks his head into Taiga’s fur to hide the way his own face is suddenly hot. 

He feels off-balance in the half-lit room, stupidly nervous and maybe still a bit like he could fight someone. Punch something just to feel the weight of it push back through his knuckles. The feeling jumbles nauseously in the pit of his stomach, and Sasha can’t hide his flinch when Erik, stripped down just to the soft cotton of his undershirt, slides onto the bed next to him.

Taiga is curled up by his thighs and Erik is sitting close on the bed. Too close. It should feel claustrophobic but it isn’t. Sasha mostly just wants to get away from the gentleness of Erik’s gaze. He can still see the puck sliding away from him, feel the sinking of his chest as he realized that even with the way his legs were burning, there was no getting it back. Sasha sees it happening over and over again behind his open eyes.

“Give me your tie,” Erik says quietly, holding out his hand.

Sasha swallows, raising his hands to loosen the knot at his throat, numb fingers sliding clumsy against the slick fabric. Erik makes a low noise and shifts closer, bats Sasha’s useless hands away and unravels the tie easily. It slips from Sasha’s collar with a soft _hiss_.

He wraps the fabric up around the flat of his palm in a move that looks more reflex than conscious action, and Sasha stares at his hands; the confident, deliberate way they fold over the tie. Erik’s ring and middle fingers are busted from years of slashing and fighting, neither of his pinkies will straighten completely any more - but the motions of his hands are smooth and sure.

“Lay down, Sasha,” Erik says to him, terribly steady. “Relax.”

Sasha manages the first one, but his muscles don’t un-tense when his head hits the pillow. His whole body wants to freeze up at the fact of Erik, close up behind him, but at the same time Sasha is almost too exhausted to care. He feels hollow and sick and keyed up. He goes completely boneless when Erik touches him.

Erik wraps a proprietary arm around his middle, pulling their bodies flush together, chest to back. Sasha’s never been the little spoon before, and he finds that there’s a lot to take in: he can feel Erik’s knees behind his own, feel his breath blowing hot and a little damp on the last knob of his spine. He can feel, if he focuses, Erik’s heart beating slow through both of their chests.

Erik starts talking.

“That was a rough look out there,” he says, “and I know you’re probably feeling like you broke something that’s beyond fixing.” He feels Erik breathe out against him, the movement of his ribs where they press against Sasha’s back, and then there’s a hand moving through his hair, blunt nails scratching against the grain. 

“But you haven’t, Sasha. It was just a bad game. A bad night. You still deserve to be here. That hasn’t changed, okay? You work hard - blood, sweat and tears. I see it, all the guys see it. Don’t doubt that.”

Sasha squeezes his eyes shut, blinking against the sharp prick of mortifying tears, and takes a deep breath that’s only a bit shuddery. He can’t cry in front of Erik fucking Henson, he _won’t,_ but God, does it feel like he just might.

Erik keeps moving his broad hand over the crown of Sasha’s head, all the way down to the nape of his neck. A gentle touch. It soothes the sharp edges of Sasha’s guilt - his anger, his embarrassment - and the next breath comes out a bit steadier.

“There you go,” Erik murmurs into Sasha’s shoulder, beard making a slight sound as it moves against the grain of the fabric. Sasha’s spine unstiffens, tension releasing, and he feels Erik’s nose nudge just above the back of his collar, breath hot against the sensitive skin at the bottom of Sasha’s hairline. Scenting him. It washes calm through him, cool water against his over-heated, over-taxed body, and whatever tight thing was squeezing Sasha’s chest finally breaks off and floats away.

They breathe together, Taiga tucked up against their feet, and Sasha tries not to feel just how _right_ this is all the way down to the marrow of his bones. Erik cares for him, undeniably, but it’s not like the tug in Sasha’s gut, not like the buzzing in his fingertips when he lays his hand gently over Erik’s on his stomach, and squeezes. But Erik still squeezes back. He doesn’t let go. Sasha holds on to that like a rock in the raging tumult of a storm.

And Sasha knows. He knows he should change out of his undershirt and slacks, already impossibly wrinkled. Knows he should go back to his room and brush his teeth and slide under cold, impersonal hotel sheets. He should crawl out of this embrace that feels too good. 

Instead, he closes his eyes. He falls asleep with Erik holding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies if you're from New Jersey.


	4. ocean spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop me if you've heard this one before: so Zach fucking Kassian walks up next to you at Newark Liberty International Airport....

Sasha isn’t exactly surprised when Kassian sidles on up to him at the airport the next day. There’s some kind of tropical weather situation happening in between Jersey and Florida, so they have a bit of down time before they’ll be allowed on the plane.

Sasha has just wandered over to the big bay windows to stare out at the grey tarmac, watching guys in orange vests drive around on those little buggies while he stretches his legs, when Kass suddenly materializes at his side.

“So, you and Henson huh?” he says, sans fucking preamble.

Sasha turns to blink at him.

“Uh, no?”

He’d been ready for a conversation about wolves and territoriality and appropriate emotional distance between teammates (was feeling loose and happy and prepared with answers for _all_ of that, namely that it was none of anyone’s goddamn fucking business). 

He was _not_ prepared for Zach fucking Kassian to walk up to him at Newark goddamn Airport, New Jersey, and ask him if he’s _tapping that_.

“I heard you spent the night in his room,” Kass puts in casually, raising an eyebrow.

_Yeah I bet Sheahan had a lot to say about that,_ Sasha thinks. _Fucking_ _nark_. 

“C’mon, you saying a guy can’t have a little innocent cuddle with his teammate every now and then?” he quips, tongue poking out between his teeth. Kass doesn’t return the smile. “I swear, Big K, we’re not boning. Strictly platonic. No sword fights, not even a _little bit_ of ass-play between buddies. It’s actually kinda fucked up if you think about it.”

Kass rolls his eyes to the ceiling with a groan, and he gets this look over his face like he’s trying to decide between punching Sasha in the jaw or just straight up pretending the last 30 seconds never happened. Sasha smirks. He’s still got it.

“The fact that Henson hasn’t tried to strangle you to death yet is a genuine miracle.”

Sasha winks, “It’s all this natural charm baby. You know you’re jealous.”

Kass scoffs, but his face goes serious again much too soon.

“Seriously though, you got any idea what you’re doing here bud?”

Sasha squints at him, “Like, here in this airport, or?”

Kass doesn’t take the bait. 

“I’m being for real about this, Whits. You’re spending all this time with this older, unmated guy and his bondwolf, like that’s just a _thing_ , or something _._ You two barely leave each other alone anymore, and don’t think I don’t see you pawing at the guy like you never learned to keep your hands to yourself. What exactly do you imagine is gonna happen here?”

“Um,” Sasha swallows, mouth suddenly dry at the call-out. “We’re friends?”

Kass crosses his arms over his chest.

“Friends, or pack?”

Sasha bites his lip. “Both? Or - isn’t the whole team his pack? Technically?”

“Yeah,” Kass says lowly. “But not like that. Not like you are. If we’re all pack, what does that make _you_ , to him?”

Sasha shrugs, looking down at the grimy airport carpet, the absurdly ugly repeating pattern. There’s a sudden tightness between his shoulder blades that feels a lot like shame.

Kass blows out a breath. “Look, kid, I didn’t come over here to give you some kind of big speech or make you feel bad or nothin’. It’s just something I’ve noticed, and probably some other guys are noticing too, right? You kinda act - well, sometimes you act like you think you’re his mate or something.”

Sasha looks back up at that, eyes wide.

“I didn’t-”

“Hey, I know you didn’t mean to,” Kass reassures, which like, does _shit_ to make Sasha feel better. “That’s why I wanted to tell you, yeah? ‘Cuz it’s not really fair.”

Sasha’s brow creases.

“Fair?”

Kass winces, and when he speaks again his voice is lower, like he doesn’t want this part to be overheard. “Yeah kid, y’know, on account of how you don’t have a wolf and all that. Not like you two could mate for real, right?”

And doesn’t that just hit Sasha dead in the centre of his chest, caught mid-ice by a 250 pound bruiser he never saw coming. All the air squeezes out of his lungs in a rush, because _of course_. He’s been such a fucking idiot, running around with this giant gaudy fucking Olympic-sized torch for Erik Henson, waving it around for everyone to see like that could ever go well for him. Of course, Erik wouldn’t want anything back. Erik _could_ _never_ want anything back, and anybody could see that - everybody _knew it_ , already, and Sasha’s just been this annoying little rook hanging at Erik’s elbow, cooing idiotically over how _cool_ his wolf is and throwing temper-tantrums that Erik has to spend all night soothing, codling him like he’s not a grown adult man. He doesn’t have it under lock at all. God. Sasha had fucking _cried_ in front of the guy. He could just die right now.

Kass is still watching him, his forehead wrinkling with pity.

“Aw, Whits. Buddy.”

And Fuck. Fuck, his fucking _face_ , seriously, he has to figure out how to get this shit under control, because the way Kass is looking at him all soft and torn-up and sympathetic right now is making it perfectly clear that the mess of emotion tangling in the pit of his stomach has gone ahead and written itself in bold print across the planes of his face. He _can’t_ keep looking like this in public - like some sideshow freak with his guts ripped out, spilling feelings everywhere.

Sasha pinches his lips together quickly and takes a step back, wrapping arms around his middle like he needs to protect himself from something.

“No,” he says, his attempt at a casual tone cracking a bit, which is just par for the fucking course at this point. “No, it’s cool man, don’t worry about it. Thanks for telling me, literally, like, it could’ve gotten really awkward. So. Thanks.”

He punctuates his awful, fumbling attempt at light-heartedness with a painfully fake laugh, then turns on his heel and half-sprints to the restrooms with his shoulders hunched. His bags are still on the floor next to where Erik is sitting, right where he left them before he went to stretch his legs. Right before anyone bothered to let him know, _oh yeah, hey, you’ve been making a complete fool of yourself Whitaker._

He sees, out of the corner of his eye, Erik glance up at him, and Sasha walks faster, not stopping until he’s locked himself in one of the stalls, feeling sick and stupid and _small_. Which just makes him feel even stupider, because it’s not like he ever had a chance anyway, and he already knew that. He’d accepted that, it’s just- 

_If we’re all pack, what does that make you, to him?_

Maybe he’d thought he was something, to Erik. Something special. Something _more._

Something other than a clueless idiot with an unrequited crush that everyone and their mom could see from space, the witless rookie that Erik let hang around because he was just nice like that, because his wolf seemed to like it.

Sasha bit down on the inside of his cheek, breathing hard. _Fuck._

He had to get it together. He had to go back out there and sit next to Erik and act like there was nothing wrong, at least for a little while. Just until he could put some space between them, make it seem natural-like. If he pulls away too fast there’s gonna be _questions_ , and the last thing Sasha needs or wants is to explain any of this to Erik. God, the only thing that could make this worse would be to have to stand there while Erik tries to let him down gently. There was a hysterical laugh building in his throat just thinking about it.

No, he needs to do this in a way Erik won’t notice. A subtle retreat, like stitches dissolving from skin. There and gone before you could even notice.

Obviously, Erik notices.

They’re coworkers. They see each other almost _literally_ every day during the season, including holidays. They travel, eat, train, work out, and take the ice together every other night. Really, this is just one more thing that Sasha should have considered before he went and let himself get all soft over a teammate. (Not that he’d considered much of anything at all in the first place, if we’re being honest.)

The point is that they’d had a bit of a routine established between the two of them, consisting mostly of (as Kass so eloquently put it) barely leaving each other alone most of the time. This, in turns, makes it kind of obvious when Sasha just, y’know - stops.

“Juj wanted to try this new place, actually,” Sasha says to his phone. “They’ve got, uh, lobster ramen.”

There’s a carefully drawn out silence from the other end of the line, and then Erik’s voice says, “You hate lobster, Sasha.”

Sasha breathes out, and works to keep his own voice even. “Yeah, but JJ loves it. _He’s_ going to eat the dead bottom feeder, and I’m going to have some lovely pork shoulder.”

Erik huffs out a small laugh, and Sasha’s heart squeezes. God he’s the _worst_.

“Are pigs really any better than lobster, when it comes to hygienic eating?” prods Erik.

And this is where Sasha would normally take up the gauntlet with relish, and insist that it _isn’t_ the same because farm animals are on controlled diets so even though pigs _could_ eat disgusting things, they _don’t,_ and Erik would just ignore that perfectly good point and make fun of him for the real reason that Sasha doesn’t like lobsters, which is that they remind him of spiders, and Sasha would say that not wanting to eat ocean spiders is _actually_ _completely reasonable_ , _actually,_ and Erik would insist that if he just gave garlic butter a chance he’d be singing an entirely different tune.

That’s what he would’ve done, anyway, if he could still let himself. If he hadn’t fucked this up. Sasha feels the instinct of it rise in his throat, and drives it back down viciously.

Instead, he lets his voice go distant and bland and bored and says,

“Whatever, it’ll be good food, anyways. Sorry I couldn’t make our usual,” and knows he’s the hugest tool in the world.

And the worst part of it is that Erik just takes it. He doesn’t say _But we always have lunch together on Thursdays, it’s been our thing for months and you bailed last week too,_ even though Sasha kind of wishes he would.

Instead he says, “No worries, I’ll catch you at practice,” and hangs up after Sasha mumbles a half-hearted goodbye. 

And Sasha was wrong, actually, because the worst part of it is that he can hear it in Erik’s voice. The barest edge, a razor-thin slice of _hurt_ colouring his tone, and Sasha knows he put it there - that this is all, in actual fact, about the farthest from _no worries_ he could possibly fucking get.

“Okay, you gotta stop using me to avoid Henson,” JJ says to him, just a week later.

They’re at lunch again - because JJ is Sasha’s only friend now - the both of them enjoying a tender, beautifully seasoned cut of an entirely trustworthy land mammal when JJ decides to entreat him with those big, beautiful, pleading eyes.

“Seriously bro, whatever is going on there, I don’t want to be in the middle anymore. His wolf won’t stop glaring at me, _he_ won’t stop glaring at me. You remember when he used to glare at you? It’s not fun man.”

Sasha chokes a bit on his bite of tenderloin and coughs. “Shit, is he actually? Fuck.”

Because that means Erik has probably figured it out. And is obviously pissed about it.

JJ takes a bite of green beans before he sighs, evidently bracing himself.

“So, what did you do?”

Sasha scrunches up his nose with a frown. “Me? Why do you assume _I_ did something?”

JJ rolls his eyes. “C’mon, give it up bro. What was it? Did you touch his wolf or something?”

Sasha did, in fact, touch Erik’s wolf. And that was only incidental to the actual problem here. God, he is such an idiot.

“Nah. I mean that’s not- It’s not that,” Sasha fumbles, and JJ’s brow creases. “It’s fine though. Like, he’ll get over it.”

“Get over _what,_ Whits?” JJ presses, sensing weakness like blood in the water. “Two weeks ago you guys were practically superglued at the hip. Now you can barely even look at the guy.”

Sasha hides behind his water glass, chugging at length until there’s nothing left. An ice chip catches and tickles at the back of his throat. He coughs and swallows, and avoids JJ’s gaze.

“Did something happen?” JJ asks suddenly, voice dropped down to the range of low and dangerous. “Did _he_ do something Sash?”

Sasha’s eyes flick up instantly as he recoils at the suggestion. “No! No, fuck. Nothing like that- You were right the first time. It was me, I did something and I just, _couldn’t-_ ”

He cuts off abruptly, everything he doesn’t know how to say rising up at once and choking in his throat.

JJ sits back in his chair and gives Sasha a long, deeply assessing look. He’s always been good at reading Sasha, at seeing through the half-baked sentences and the cheesy, easy-going persona he slips into like an old coat. Now he says nothing, just waits patiently for Sasha to crack. And it doesn’t take that long.

“Look,” Sasha sighs. “Yes, he might be mad right _now_ , but I’m doing the both of us a favour here. S’easier like this, y’know, and like I said, he’ll get over it eventually.”

Dark eyes scrutinize him for a minute, before they drop back down to the tabletop as JJ returns his attention to his over-priced meal. He gives Sasha the relative peace of the time it takes to chew and swallow his last bite before sitting back again, glass in hand.

“You sure about that?” he asks.

Sasha’s face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you absolutely, 100% sure that this is what you have to do - that this is the _only_ thing you can do,” JJ asks, gesturing widely with his cup. “Because if I were in his position, I’d be pretty damn pissed to lose your friendship over something that wasn’t 100% unfixable.”

And that kinda freaking steals the breath out of him. 

JJ leans back across the table, watching Sasha carefully from his chair like a king on a throne. His mouth ticks up over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. Smug bastard.

“What the hell? When did you become like, my relationship Yoda?”

JJ scoffs. “If I’m Yoda then you’ve gotta be the shittiest Luke in the galaxy. And we’re talking about a guy who kissed his own sister here, so…”

Sasha’s expression twists up in offence. “And I don’t clear that bar?”

“You do, but you lose out in every other category.” JJ shrugs, smiling. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Sasha rolls his eyes and lets JJ laugh at him, enjoying the moment of levity before JJ’s face smooths out again - his serious-but-not-deadly-serious expression letting Sasha know that he’s probably not gonna like what comes next.

“But seriously Whits, just talk to the guy. I doubt there’s much you could do that he wouldn’t be willing to forgive, and you owe it to the both of you to at least try, right? And you owe it to _me._ Please, I can’t take the sad faces any more. Seeing Henson _emote_ is definitely undermining his whole Silent/Deadly Enforcer schtick. It’s disturbing, really.”

Sasha grimaces, but easily relents when JJ makes another pleading face at him.

“ _Fine._ For you bud, but only ‘cuz you asked so nicely.”

Erik, it turns out, is not a hard person to find. Coworkers, daily routine, yada yada, etcetera.

Sasha tries to put off the inevitable for a bit, rationalizes that it wouldn’t be very polite of him to interrupt Erik while he’s pulling on his gear, or while they’re trying to run drills mid-ice, or while Erik’s working out, or when he’s got his nose in a book on the plane, or while Taiga is napping on his feet… There are a lot of good reasons, okay? The man is busy, and it’s not like this is a conversation that either of them really even _want_ to have, so Sasha feels justified in leaving it, just for another couple of days.

JJ, for some unfathomable reason, doesn’t seem to agree with him.

“Just go _do it_ Whitaker, you big baby,” he needles over breakfast in a Denver hotel, already about ten seconds away from throwing bits of something dubiously christened ‘Hash-Brown Bake’ at Sasha’s head.

Sasha glares back and barely resists sticking his tongue out at him, because he’s maybe a _little bit_ of a big baby, but does get up from the table (suck it JJ), and shuffles awkwardly over to where Erik is sitting, markedly alone, a few tables away.

Sasha carefully doesn’t think about how he’d usually have dibs on the empty seat to Erik’s left, how Erik would always be the first down for breakfast when they were on overnight roadies, grabbing coffees for the both of them and waiting for Sasha to join him (shaking his head at the five sugars Sasha took in his morning joe but dutifully stirring them in for him anyway).

Erik’s dark eyes raise slowly from his plate as he approaches, coming to rest on Sasha as stands uncertainly at the far end of the table.

“Hey man,” Sasha says, trying at casual.

Erik’s face doesn’t change. It stays perfectly, deliberately blank - this studied expressionlessness that makes Sasha immediately want to curl in on himself.

“Hey,” Erik replies.

Sasha shuffles his feet. “Hi,” he says again, redundantly. “I just uh-” he swallows, and stalls out.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He did not prepare for this.

Erik watches him struggle impassively. On the other side of the table and out of sight Sasha hears Taiga make a noise - something between a hoarse growl and a distressed whine. A pained look flits over Erik’s face for a second before it’s gone, startling Sasha enough to find his breath again.

“I’m sorry,” he bites out quickly, the words rising up like bile. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make it like this. And I get it if you- I really get it, I just thought maybe- Shit. I mean, I should at least apologize, right? I owe you explanation, if you even want to hear it.”

Sasha bites down on his tongue and wrings his hands nervously, waiting for Erik to tell him to fuck off. It’s not a good… anything. Excuse. Apology. Appeal for forgiveness. He should have written himself flashcards for this or something.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Erik says, finally says something, and Sasha blinks. “You don’t have to apologize or explain. I understand.”

“You do?” Sasha asks, feeling awfully knocked off-balance. Dread is creeping in, thick and nauseous in his stomach. He’s here: Erik Henson is about to have to let him down gently, painful and easy just like he always imagined it.

“Yes, it’s… I understand your… concerns,” Erik says stiffly, biting out the words. “And obviously you’re perfectly within your rights to want nothing more to do with me.”

And that’s when Sasha’s eyebrows shoot right up his forehead, because um, _what?_

“Wait, _what?_ ” Sasha says out loud, but Erik’s already stacking up cutlery on his plate, throwing down his napkin and standing from the table.

“It’s okay, Whitaker,” Erik says, and Sasha’s not ready for the way that it cuts at him, _Whitaker,_ in that voice. “And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

He starts to walk away and Sasha moves without thinking, catches Erik by the elbow and steps out in front of him. He braces, half-expecting Erik’s anger, for Taiga’s growl voicing it, but Erik just stares at him, frozen with surprise. When Sasha chances a glance down he sees that Taiga’s got her head pressed heavy against Erik’s thigh, her yellow eyes blinking big and round and wet up at him. Imploring. Sasha feels something foreign tug in his chest.

“Look, can we just- Can we talk about this, please? I don’t want this to be _it_ , this can’t be it, I mean-” He takes a deep breath. Calms himself. “Someone said to me recently that we owe it to ourselves at least to try, right? Would you just- just give me the chance to try?”

Erik is clearly caught off guard, hesitant and unconvinced. “I don’t-”

A high whine from below them cuts him off. Taiga’s got her muzzle tilted against Erik’s thigh now, staring up at him with her ears pressed flat against her head. Erik’s mouth twists into a flat, displeased line, and she whines again, louder.

“Fine,” he finally huffs, and Sasha tries not to boggle too hard while he watches. It’s unusual for them to have such an obvious disagreement about anything - to be spilling outside of the pure wordlessness of the bond.

Erik finally turns back to face Sasha. He doesn’t look resigned, exactly, but he’s visibly wary - like he already knows this’ll end badly for him, but he knows he can’t stop it, either. Sasha tries not to feel too hurt by the thought of that.

“Okay,” Erik says gruffly. “Talking. Sure. We can meet at yours - let’s say an hour after we land?”

Sasha bites down on equal parts uncertain and over-familiar responses, the instinct to push back - _But your place is nicer. Is Taiga okay? Are you two fighting? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I miss you_ \- and forces a tight smile instead.

“Works for me,” he says. “See you then,” and watches quietly from there as Erik dumps his cutlery in the bin and stoically walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if pigs are hygienically superior to lobsters... I don't eat either. Farm and/or fish people feel free to let me know in the comments.


	5. smart mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's the fucking comedian now?

It’s not the way Sasha wanted Erik to see his apartment for the first time, back when he still imagined that that was an inevitability. Sasha kills thirty minutes picking up sweatshirts and empty gatorade bottles from his floor and shoving anything that even remotely suggests _Bachelor_ or _Frat Guy_ into the front hallway closet, feeling harried and nervous and like could use a 10k run just to shake off the jitters. Should he order food? Would that be weird? Would that make this like, an ex-friends-apology-and-reconciliatory _dinner_?

Sasha decides against it, but he does put out a bottle of sparkling water and two of his nice tumblers, like that’ll distract from the otherwise haphazard and generally unrefined aura of the place. At least he’s not living out of a hotel room anymore.

Erik shows up ten minutes after he said he would, either as an attempt at psychological warfare (which is absolutely successful) or because he’s been dreading this just as much as Sasha has. Probably about even odds either way. 

Sasha welcomes him and Taiga into the living room with only a half-strained smile, heart pounding anxiously, and then offers the sparkling water with all of the grace of an awkward fucking waiter.

“Sure,” says Erik, and they both take their seats at the kitchen table, one on either side of the light-stained oak like they’re about to negotiate a contract.

Taiga goes over to investigate Sasha’s couch, giving it the exact sniff of derision he always imagined she would, but then surprises him by condescending to curl up at one end of it, the corner that Sasha usually sits in ‘cuz it has the best view of the TV.

“So,” Sasha blurts, meaning _So, I’ll start_ , except that Erik apparently takes it as a prompt because he cuts in immediately, all gruff directness.

“Look, Whitaker. I get why you wanted to talk,” he says. “But I’ve just gotta make it clear right now that it’s not your job to try to… _fix_ this, or something. I made you uncomfortable, that’s obvious. I overstepped, and I knew better. I think I just thought-” His head drops, and he cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. 

“Well, it doesn’t actually matter what I thought. Just that I’m sorry. And I’m sorry it cost us this friendship, but y’know, sometimes these things are just past saving.”

Sasha stares at him, fingers tapping frantically against the glass in his hand as he takes all _that_ in, and then he blurts

“Okay, _what the fuck_ are you talking about, Erik-”

Erik’s frown hardens.

“Don’t play dumb, kid, I saw you talking to Kassian the next morning.” 

His voice comes out gritty and tired. Like something that’d crumble if you pressed at it. 

“He warned you, yeah? And I wish I could say I hadn’t meant it that way, but you… I’m usually better at controlling my instincts, but with you—” Erik breathes in and out once, harsh. “I guess you’re just the one thing I can never see coming.”

As soon as the words come out he closes his mouth with a snap, like a punctuation, like he’s trying to lock his jaw. Like he thinks he’s said too much already.

Sasha has no idea what to do with _any_ of this.

“I’m sorry,” Erik tries again, before Sasha can pull himself together enough to respond. “I’m making you uncomfortable all over again.”

And Sasha leans forward at that, because no- just _no._

“Hold up a second,” he says, barely resisting the urge to cover Erik’s hands with his against the table - to pin him there. “Slow down a second here, okay? Kass talked to me that morning because he’d noticed- He wanted to tell me that some of the guys on the team were saying-”

His voice stutters, just for a second, tongue reluctant to push it out there in the open between them - _the guys had all seen how obviously obsessed I am with you._

And of course Erik cuts in before he can find his voice again. This is probably - _tragically_ \- the most he’s talked unprompted all goddamn year.

“They saw I was being over-familiar,” Erik says tonelessly, eyes locked somewhere in the vicinity of Sasha’s shoulder. “I know. You can say it Whitaker. I let myself get too emotionally involved, too _comfortable_ with you, and you were right to pull away when you did. I just wish… Fuck, I thought you would have trusted me enough to say it to my face at least, instead of blowing me off over and over again like I didn’t know how to take a hint.”

Erik’s voice goes quiet and reserved at the end, like he doesn’t want to be too intrusive while he tells Sasha about how _he hurt his feelings_. It makes Sasha’s throat seize, makes his fingers spasm in a nervous rhythm on the table, and he wraps both hands around his water glass to make them stop. Leans forward in his chair and catches Erik’s reluctant gaze.

“That’s not at _all_ what I— Just, fuck, _Erik_. Of course I trust you, you’re fucking amazing. You’re… I don’t even have the words to say it. And you deserve to be able to be close with people, especially people on your team, for Chrissakes Erik, you’re allowed to have _friends_. If anyone on this team has a problem with that they can go fuck themselves. Seriously, especially since _I’m_ the one who was actually being- who was making things… inappropriate _._ ”

Erik opens his mouth, looking set to argue, but Sasha’s on a roll now. 

“No. Just let me finish. It’s not like you weren’t clear. And I- I was _so_ happy to be your friend Erik, for real like, I knew that was all it could be, yeah? And that was perfect. _I_ was the one who went and made it weird. Wanting more— And I couldn’t keep it under wraps for _shit_. That’s why Kass stopped me in the airport, okay? He wanted to say— He basically said that I was being obvious, like, that everyone had noticed how I was around you and that I was acting as if-”

Sasha bites down on his tongue, holding the words in his mouth for just a second longer. 

This is the most embarrassing part, the most _humiliating_ part, but he needs to put it out there. To get everything on the table so that Erik knows exactly what this is — so that he can’t keep thinking that _he’s_ the reason this got all fucked up.

“He said I was acting like I thought I was your mate,” Sasha spits out, cheeks flaming as Erik’s gaze snaps up, dark eyes drawn like a magnet. “Which, don’t worry - I _know_ it’s never gonna happen. But it rattled me, y’know? Hearing that. Like- like I must’ve looked like such an idiot to you, to _everyone_ , this whole fucking time. Like I was desperately trying to throw myself at you or something.”

Sasha ducks his head, stares down at the crystal he’s squeezing too tight in his hands, tight enough to leave a mark against his skin.

_There_. Now it’s all just… out there. Spilled ugly and mortifying on the tabletop between them. At least if this ruins things again they’ll be on the same page about it this time, right?

It’s cold comfort against the thought of Erik hating him for this.

Sasha dares to peek across the table. Erik is looking intensely back at him, mouth pressed into a flat line behind his beard. Sasha’s stomach flip-flops at that, but it doesn’t crash down into the floor just yet, because across the table Erik doesn’t look mad. Just serious.

“Kassian shouldn’t have said that to you,” he says quietly, frowning. “You’re not an idiot.”

(And Sasha is pretty sure there’s a wealth of evidence out there contradicting that statement, but he’s not about to be the one to say it.)

“I mean, I do think you _act_ like an idiot, pretty much 90% of the time,” Erik adds, smiling a bit this time, and Sasha feels his shoulders drop as the cold indifference finally melts from Erik’s tone. “But I’d never think you’re stupid. You’re scary fucking smart, Sasha.”

It feels like all of the breath leaves Sasha’s body in a rush when he laughs, the sound wobbly and strange and relieved in between them.

“And you didn’t- there was nothing wrong with the way you were acting,” Erik adds with a frown. “No offence to the guy, but it sounds like Kassian has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.”

That forces another small laugh out of Sasha, but he ducks his head. The reminder makes him feel just a _little_ tight around the edges.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” Sasha hedges, having no intention of telling literally anyone about any of this. “I’m just glad we were able to sort this out, hey? Put this whole thing behind us and just forget about it.”

He’s trying to be subtle, to let Erik know that they don’t need to _talk_ about it, that Sasha’s got it under control. No fucking way is he gonna let his stupid feelings get in between them ever again.

For some reason, though, the words just make Erik’s forehead to crease into a frown.

“Um, did you want anything else to drink?” Sasha asks, pushing up suddenly from the table, as good an excuse as any to get out from under Erik’s piercing gaze. “Or I could order us something, if you’re hungry.”

He doesn’t hear Erik follow him into the kitchen, doesn’t notice him right at his back until he’s turning away from the fridge, beer in hand, and nearly runs into the bulk of his chest.

“Oh!” Sasha says, narrowly keeping his grip on the bottle. “Jesus! Didn’t see you there. You want one?”

Sasha holds the beer up and kind of wiggles it back and forth enticingly. Erik doesn’t even glance at it, staring hard at Sasha’s face. His gaze has gone sharp and considering.

“What did you mean when you said you know it’s never gonna happen?”

Sasha swallows against a dry throat, nervous all over again. “Uh, know _what_ can never happen?”

Erik definitely notices Sasha playing for time, but he doesn’t call him on it outright.

“Us. Being mates,” he says plainly.

Sasha’s forehead prickles with a light sweat, the beer bottle feeling suddenly very cold in hand by contrast. Sasha quickly turns his back on Erik and faces the counter, opening a drawer he knows doesn’t have a bottle opener in it so he can pretend to look for one.

“Uh,” Sasha says, pushing wooden spoons and spatulas around with a loud clatter. “Kass mentioned, just like, that people with bondwolves don’t, uh. That they can’t mate with anyone who doesn’t have a bondwolf. So. Um.”

He can feel Erik’s gaze on the back of his neck, opens a second drawer and rattles the contents around again before his hand closes around a bottle opener in Oiler’s blue and orange. Pops the cap off of his drink and leans one hip back against the counter, finally facing Erik again but with his gaze somewhere just to the left of his actual face.

“Is that so?” Erik asks, something in his voice that Sasha can’t read.

“Yep,” Sasha says, popping the P. “I mean, that’s what Kass said. So.”

Erik takes a step forward, closing in, his socked feet nearly brushing up against Sasha’s on the kitchen tile. Sasha’s heart jumps suddenly in his throat.

“You remember when I said Kassian doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about?” Erik asks, voice low, and Sasha nods mutely, grip gone tight around the bottle.

“Yeah,” Erik says. “You’ve _really_ got to stop listening to that guy,” right before he tips forward and kisses him.

It hits Sasha like an electric shock, and he nearly drops his beer again as his grip slackens suddenly, the glass sliding slick between his fingers. He catches it at the last second, startled, and fumbles his hand in the vague direction of the counter. Erik huffs out a laugh through his nose without breaking the kiss and catches Sasha’s hand in his, guiding the bottle down to the counter.

And then he doesn’t let go. He keeps Sasha’s hand pinned there underneath his, fingers folded around the bottle, as his other hand raises to grip at Sasha’s hip and push him gently backwards, pressing him flat into the counter. Erik’s nose nudges Sasha’s as he turns his head and deepens the kiss, just a little, just enough for Sasha to notice the wet slide of their lips, the slightly unfamiliar tilt to his neck as he reaches to kiss someone who’s just that much taller than him. Sasha’s a big guy - it’s not often that he has to strain upwards for his partner, guy or girl. It makes him more aware of how Erik’s got him boxed in, pinned with the breadth of his body. It makes something twist hot and sudden in the pit of his stomach.

And then it makes him realize what he’s actually _doing_.

“Wait,” Sasha gasps, tearing himself away from Erik’s mouth, from Erik’s hands on his body. “Wait, wait. Hold on a second.”

Erik lets him go, taking a step back so that Sasha can slide away - just out of reach.

“Since when are you? And now we’re _kissing_? And when did we- did we- _What_ is going on right now?”

Erik smirks and leans casually against the fridge, crossing his hands over his chest like he’s got all day.

“I’m coming on to you,” he says simply.

“You’re _coming on to me_?” Sasha repeats, incredulous. “But _why_? And since _when_? Is that even- Is that even a _thing_?”

Erik rolls his eyes. “I’m just gonna give you a minute here to process this.”

Sasha nods like that makes any sense and picks up his beer from the counter, takes a long pull and then puts it back down. Paces in a circle.

“Okay, but for _real_? Like literally, are you _sure_? This isn’t just some temporary break from sanity and like, _heterosexuality_? Oh my god, this isn’t like some kind of wolf thing where your instincts are telling you to pity fuck me to make me feel better, is it?”

Erik squints at him, still looking faintly amused.

“You know, I’m not sure wolves can even grasp the concept of a pity fuck in the first place.” 

His tone is all serene, like he’s contemplating some deep philosophical question.

Sasha makes an irritated noise and stops pacing. 

“Okay, then like, this isn’t some kind of instinct thing where you lick my face to try to make me feel better and then regret it the next morning?”

Erik tilts his head sardonically, all like _What do you think?_ , body relaxed and still just _looking_ at Sasha, this expression that’s all warm and fond and patient, the same way he’s looked at Sasha a hundred fucking times before, and realization hits Sasha like a brick wall at 90 k an hour. So fast and so entirely it nearly flattens him.

“Oh my god, you _totally_ want to lick my face. For like, _personal_ _reasons_.”

Erik snorts, shaking his head indulgently, and steps forward again, right back into Sasha’s space.

“God help me, I do,” he says, low and smiling, like a secret. “I really do.”

Sasha’s ready for it this time when Erik kisses him, but it still thrills something in the pit of his chest, makes him push up instantly for more. Erik’s hands come up to hold him there, thumbs pressed to the delicate skin under Sasha’s eyes, pinkies brushing the tender-soft curve of his throat, and Sasha _wants_. To growl, to sink his teeth in, to bite his way into Erik’s gentle, hot mouth.

And there’s no reason not to.

Erik makes a low, jagged noise at the feeling of Sasha’s teeth, backs him hard against the counter and cradles Sasha’s head as the kiss turns deep and filthy, his beard tickling and scratching in turn. Sasha feels like he could buzz right out of his skin already, fingers scrabbling clumsily at every part of Erik he can reach, finally hooking into his belt-loops and pulling their hips flush together. Erik groans, a hurt noise, and digs in with his fingers, pressing Sasha harder up into the counter until his dick is throbbing hot in his pants.

“Okay!” Sasha gasps, turning his head to the side so he can speak. Erik’s mouth doesn’t let up, keeps moving over to the hinge of his jaw, down the exposed length of his throat like he can’t stand the thought of pulling away for even a second.

“Okay, this is good, it’s just-” Sasha breathes out on a shudder as Erik’s hands worm their way under the hem of his shirt, hot palms mapping out the smooth skin of his back indelicately. Threatening a hint of nails. “This is going to turn into a bit of a hygienically suspect situation if we don’t move-” Erik’s hands drag down to grope at his ass, kneading, right as he licks a long, hot stripe over the side of Sasha’s throat. Sasha gasps “- _movetothebedroomrightfuckingnow.”_

Erik chuckles into the curve of his neck, and finally kisses him once more before he steps back, pulling Sasha forward with him. “Alright Mister Health and Safety, let’s go then.”

Sasha bites at his shoulder in retaliation and pushes him in the direction of the bedroom, trying not to get distracted by Erik’s kisses or his shoulders or his wandering hands.

It’s not until they walk past the living room couch that Sasha remembers that Taiga is still here, curled up on the cushions and looking way too sly for a wolf (as usual).

“Is she gonna be okay out here?” Sasha asks, pulling up short. Erik shrugs, unbothered.

“I don’t see why not,” he says, tilting his head in the way that means he’s checking in with her through the bond. Taiga wags her tail, and Erik colours suddenly.

Sasha’s never seen Erik blush before. It’s fucking fascinating.

“Whaaat?” he prods, because, like, _duh,_ and Erik bites his lip.

“Nothing,” he says. “She- She just says she’s happy that I finally, um, went for it.”

Sasha’s eyes widen. “ _Finally?_ ”

Erik shrugs half-awkwardly again, and then he reaches for Sasha to wrap him up in his arms, pulling him close. “Don’t ask me why, because _you_ are ridiculous,” he says, stroking at the side of Sasha’s face with a thumb. “But I have been inexplicably charmed by you ever since you told me to ‘step up my clout game’ _bro_.”

He punctuates this confession by covering Sasha’s smiling face with his hand, like he’s facewashing him without the nasty, sweaty glove in between, and kisses him in the spaces between his fingers. Sasha tries to kiss him back but he’s smiling to hard, and he has to break away to whisper, “I actually said you should step up your _drip_ , _bro_ , but it’s okay that you didn’t remember. That was still very romantic.”

Erik groans and kisses him harder, dragging him bodily towards the door to the bedroom.

“Completely ridiculous,” Erik says against his skin, hands pulling insistently at Sasha’s shirt, tugging it up until it catches at his armpits.

“Let me just-” Sasha leans away and fights out of the offending shirt as quickly as he can, tossing it somewhere over his head before coming back for round two against the fly of his pants, hands nearly shaking with adrenaline and anticipation.

Erik gets out of his own clothes with far less struggle, calmly folding his pants and depositing them on the top of Sasha’s dresser as Sasha flails his way out of the last pant leg. Erik’s got his back turned, and Sasha gets stuck watching him, the thick breadth of his body and the dark hair that dusts over his chest and thighs and arms, the confident way he holds himself as he pads back across the room. Not to mention that amazing fucking _ass_.

“See anything you like?” Erik leers, crossing to where Sasha is standing at the foot of the bed, stripped down just to his underwear. Sasha smirks back, exaggerated, and does his best wolf-whistle.

“You know it baby,” he calls, reaching for Erik as soon as he’s within distance. “Come over here and sex me up, big boy.”

The aggrieved noise that Erik makes this time is definitely closer to a growl, as he catches Sasha by the waist and drives him back against the bed, pinning him to the comforter with hands on either side of his head, mouth biting immediately at his jaw.

“You’re hilarious,” Erik deadpans, low. “Now let’s see if we can get you to shut up.”

Sasha bites him back, twinning limbs around him and pulling Erik down closer.

“Let’s see if you can make me,” he snarks, and delights when Erik _does_ , kissing him soundly into silence.

They press together everywhere, skin to over-heated skin except for where they’ve both left on their underwear, one last bit of modesty between them as Erik leans in to learn the shape of his mouth for the first time, as Sasha claws blunt nails down Erik’s back and shakes to know how it makes him shudder.

“Fuck,” Sasha swears when Erik bites down on his neck again, teeth digging hard against the tendon. Sasha’s hips come up of their own accord, heels pushing at the mattress for leverage as he rubs his cock over the flat give of Erik’s stomach.

“God, yeah,” Erik grunts, catching Sasha with one arm low around his back, flexing to bring their hips up into alignment - that insane strength barely leashed as he nearly takes Sasha’s weight clean off the bed. Erik’s mouth comes crashing back down against his again, kissing him hot and deep and all-consuming as he pushes Sasha to keep grinding at his hip, too much friction and not enough pressure and it’s perfect. Sasha’s toes curl and he groans.

The sound seems to do something to Erik, who kisses him even harder as he drops his weight to crush Sasha against the bed, crushes Sasha’s dick against his own stomach for one blinding moment before he’s putting space between them again so he can claw Sasha out of his boxer-briefs with determination.

Sasha’s dick bobs up against his stomach, flushed dark and shiny and all but screaming how stupidly, helplessly into this he is, and Erik just _looks_ , eyes gone black with lust. It makes Sasha want to say something stupid, some throwaway line that’ll make Erik scrunch up his nose and cut his gaze away, something to relieve the tension, but he’s hit with a sudden choking bout of nerves, goosebumps rising over his skin as his throat closes. Sasha pants, open-mouthed, and looks back at Erik with too-wide eyes.

Erik’s right there on top of him in a second, his big hands drawing up Sasha’s bare thighs, pushing fine hair against the grain. The touch makes Sasha jump like he’s been burned, and Erik’s eyes meet his as he presses down harder, pushing at the muscle like he can wring the tension right out with his hands alone, Sasha’s breath shuddering hard in his chest.

“You’re good, Sasha,” Erik says, so sure, gripping him tighter. “You look so fucking good like this.”

Sasha’s stomach flutters. His fingers scratch up the bedsheets. 

“Yeah?” he asks shakily, tilting his chin up. Asking. _Wanting_ , and Erik doesn’t make him wait. He kisses him, tongue scouring to the back of Sasha’s mouth, marking him from the inside out until it’s the only thing he can taste. Sasha tips open for it, stretches out, falls easily back against the bed when Erik moves him there.

“Yeah,” Erik murmurs, landing a kiss at the base of his neck, right between his collarbones. “Gonna get my mouth on you now.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sasha says to the ceiling, as Erik licks down to the crease of his hip, and then down further to wrap his lips around Sasha’s dick.

Sasha’s hips would have come clean off the bed if Erik weren’t already holding him down, fingers denting skin as he sucks Sasha off - relentlessly and just a little mean, except for the way he’s holding Sasha in his mouth with something that almost like reverence. Erik makes low, choked-off noises, and tightens his mouth over Sasha’s dick with such single-minded focus that it leaves Sasha shaking and panting and tender in turn, scraped hollow and clean.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sasha curses, feeling the pull in his gut that means this is about to be over soon — embarrassingly _way_ _too_ soon. He flails for a second, ends up with one hand in Erik’s hair, the soft strands of it sliding through his fingers. “Erik, _fuck_. I can’t- I’m gonna-”

And that’s when Erik suddenly retreats, the hot pressure of his mouth ghosting into barely there licks as he runs a soothing hand up the outside of Sasha’s thigh, new pressure distracting him from the rush of near orgasm. 

Sasha groans, disoriented, unsure whether he’s disappointed when that nearly-there feeling slides away, curling out of his grasp as Erik gentles him back down, even as he’s grateful that he hasn’t ended this early by coming all over himself in two minutes fucking flat.

And then out of nowhere Erik closes his mouth over him again, sudden and without warning, and _sucks._

“God!” Sasha gasps, twisting on the bed. “Godgodgodgodgod.”

He feels his orgasm pull like a hook in his stomach, a hook that leads directly back to Erik as he keeps drawing viciously tighter with his mouth, hard and intent, and Sasha feels his dick pulse dangerously, once, before Erik pulls off entirely and closes his hand tight around the base of Sasha’s cock.

“ _Jesus, fuck!_ ” Sasha pants, body coming half up off the bed as he curls forward to protect himself, the ache in his balls half painful and half the best thing he’s felt in his goddamn life. Sasha’s hand lands instinctively on top of Erik’s, more out of shock than because he wants to pull it away, and Erik doesn’t let him go, only eases up his grip a touch to back off from that incredibly tight cinch of pleasure-pain.

“Okay?” Erik asks intently, free hand suddenly stroking over the side of Sasha’s cheek, smoothing back through his already sweaty hair. Sasha leans into the touch, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” he manages, closing his other hand over Erik’s on his face to keep it there. “Shit man, you’re _mean_.”

Erik laughs, shifting his hand on Sasha’s dick so that he’s kind of rubbing a little with his thumb, and Sasha squirms, so sensitive right now that even that little movement leaves him breathless.

Erik smiles, sharp, and leans closer. “Just wanted to see if you could hold out a little longer. Seems like you’re always going a hundred miles an hour, didn’t know if maybe you’d wanna slow down for me.”

Sasha stares up at him, feeling the broad, careful palm on his face, the less careful one around his dick. Erik’s mouth is ticked up teasingly at the corner under his beard, and the sight of it feels like a dare.

“I can slow down,” Sasha says.

Erik quirks a brow at him. “Yeah?”

His hand moves, hard and deliberate and achingly slow over Sasha’s dick. Sasha quakes and squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to push into it, locks his muscles and feels that breath-stilling heat move through him again. Erik makes an interested noise, and strokes his hand faster.

“Motherfucker,” Sasha gasps, gripping the sheets by his sides hard enough to hurt. He can feel himself hurtling too fast towards the edge again, already worked up and with Erik’s expert hands moving over his dick. He gets a hand on Erik’s shoulder to warn him, feels the muscles of his inner thighs start to twitch and bites out “Fuck, shit, Erik I’m-”

The hand disappears immediately from his cock and Sasha _whines_ , back arching, his hips lifting to chase after the touch. There’s a second where it feels like he’s still gonna come, just shoot off right there with nothing touching him at all, but then Erik’s hands land back down against him, kneading hard at the meat of his thighs, and the feeling dissipates like smoke as all of the sensations in his body redirect towards this new touch.

The sound that Sasha makes then isn’t a sob, but it’s close. Erik keeps rubbing his thighs, bringing him back down from the edge, and Sasha lets himself go boneless against the bed. He feels wrung out already, shivery and pleasure-achy like he’s already come, except for how his dick is still achingly hard and leaking against his stomach, how his orgasm is so close to the surface that he can feel it in the back of his throat.

Sasha shifts restlessly on the bed as Erik pets him, his firm hands climbing up towards Sasha’s dick again, coming tantalizingly close before dragging right back down, a hint of nail in it this time.

“ _Erik_ ,” Sasha doesn’t whine. He doesn’t. His voice is low and like, _sensual_. Very restrained. “Erik c’mon, _please._ ”

Okay, so he begs a little.

Erik leans over him, presses his weight down into Sasha’s legs and kisses him messily.

“So good,” he rumbles in between licking at Sasha’s mouth, and his thumbs dig in hard just next to Sasha’s balls - this aching, deep-tissue pressure that spreads sudden through the muscles of his groin. Sasha groans and pants harder, head tilting back.

“God you’re fucking hot,” Erik growls, and Sasha would fist-pump in victory at hearing that if he had the capacity do to literally anything other than writhe apart under Erik’s hands.

It’s barely even a relief when Erik closes his fist around Sasha’s dick once more, something almost like _too much_ skittering quick across his skin. Sasha makes a noise that’s half protest and half plea, feeling like he’s got to be chafing by now, his dick rubbed raw.

Erik makes a sympathetic noise, loosing his grip to trace up the underside with gentle fingertips. It feels good. It feels like _fire_.

“Gonna hold on for me?” asks Erik above him. Sasha tilts his head back, gasping, and then rallies and tries to steel himself for it. He can do this. This is his _thing_. He’s the guy they send out when they need someone to grind it out in the corner, to bend and bend and bend without breaking, pushing himself right up to the edge and then _more,_ past it.

“Yeah,” Sasha grunts, determined. “Yeah, give it to me.”

Erik smiles at him like Sasha’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and Sasha grins back, sweaty and desperate and wound so fucking tight, shuddering when Erik goes back down on his cock.

It’s surprisingly gentle, Erik just holding him there in his mouth for a second before he starts to move his tongue, bobbing slowly up and down the length before he pulls off again to tell Sasha, “Try to go for as long as you can.”

Sasha feels that spark of adrenaline kick in as Erik takes him again, slow and hot and deep - _unspooling._ Drawing him out like yarn. It feels endless, and essential, running right up to the edge without tipping off of it.

He wants to say it all out loud - _feels so good, perfect, never want this to stop_ \- but his mouth won’t work around the words, not with that wet heat pulling at him, sucking his brains out right through his dick. Sasha groans and squirms all he can on the bed, panting, but Erik doesn’t go any faster, doesn’t make his mouth any tighter as he strokes over so gently with his tongue, over and over and over again, rubbing at the underside of Sasha’s cock in slow sweeps. 

It feels like something entirely new, this crawling heat that rises up within him, like his skin and his nerves and his muscles are hooked to a live wire, pinprick ecstasy that he can’t escape.

“Erik,” he says, thighs tightening around broad shoulders. “Erik, Erik, _Erik_.”

But Erik doesn’t stop. Erik just keeps sucking at him, gentle with his mouth and his hands and his eyes, watching Sasha as he starts to fall apart. Every instinct in Sasha wants to curl up and away from it, but Erik holds him down - pins him spread out and exposed and sees the exact moment that Sasha starts to tip over into orgasm. An orgasm like a freefall. 

He’s been on the brink of it for so long that it doesn’t even feel like coming at first - the difference between balancing on the razor’s edge and tipping over something of scant millimetres, something in between one breath and the next. Sasha knows he’s making a noise, moaning punched out and desperate as his head falls back, as his heels dig hard into the bed and he tries to fight it but he can’t - as useless as trying to fight a train on its tracks.

The cresting wave of his pleasure rolls up slow through his body, squeezing tight in his lower back and his inner thighs and his fucking balls as he finally chokes and starts to spill out over Erik’s tongue, and then he just keeps coming. Erik doesn’t let him breathe through it - keeps working at him with the wet heat of his mouth as Sasha shudders and whines and thinks that this might be endless too - this overflowing, giving up everything to Erik’s mouth, to the look in his eyes as he licks up Sasha’s come, another shock sending down his spine. His orgasm stretches out past his body, past the point where his dick flops back down against his stomach with nothing left to give, and Sasha shivers and coasts hard on the aftershocks with nothing touching him at all.

It’s simultaneous fire and floating on air - his body gone lax and boneless as Erik crawls back up the bed to kiss him, Sasha kissing back weakly on instinct alone, lips numb and bruised from biting. Erik groans and licks at Sasha’s slack mouth, sharing the taste of him between them. 

“Fuck, that was fucking awesome,” Erik groans to him between slow kisses. “You’re awesome.”

Sasha manages a weird little whimper in response, his dick still twitching from that insane fucking blowjob.

“You,” he says, or tries to, meaning to say _You did this to me, and_ _You should get off now,_ and probably also _You need to do that to me again, another five hundred times please_. Erik laughs and falls down next to him, propping his head up on one hand so he can watch Sasha’s face as he trails the other over his stomach, drawing circles with his fingertips.

“Brain not online after orgasm. Noted.”

Sasha makes another incoherent noise and tries to roll into Erik’s chest, aiming at… well, something sexy, for sure, but Erik keeps him down with a hand flat to his sternum.

“Shhh, it can wait,” he says, petting over Sasha’s skin again. “Besides, you’re cute like this. Didn’t know you could even get this quiet.”

Sasha frowns and tries to swat at him, and Erik laughs again, pressing kisses to his shoulder in apology. “You’re cute when you’re talking, too. C’mon, if I didn’t find it totally endearing we wouldn’t have gotten this far in the first place.”

Erik moves his mouth over to his neck and keeps kissing at him, palms sliding gently over Sasha’s ribs. Sasha’s starting to be able to feel his fingertips again, so he raises his own hands to paw at Erik’s biceps, finally touching him back.

“Hey,” Erik kisses his chin and smiles. “Welcome back.”

“Hey yourself,” Sasha manages, voice scraped raw like _he_ was the one who’d had Erik in his throat. 

He trails his hands absently down to the bottom of Erik’s spine and then back up to his shoulders, revelling in all the muscle and smooth skin that he can finally _touch_. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”

Erik touches his smile to Sasha’s jaw and rolls against him, planting one knee between his thighs and pressing his hard dick to Sasha’s hip. “Oh I think I have some idea.”

And that’s when Sasha notices the wet spot on the front of Erik’s boxers, how his dick is straining desperately at the fabric just from watching Sasha come apart underneath him, just from getting his mouth around Sasha to swallow him, and Sasha looks up at him and feels just the slightest little bit _insane,_ heat curling low in his stomach.

“You want it?” Erik breathes - eyes dark, grinding into him - and Sasha rolls them over so fast that he nearly overbalances and falls off the bed.

“ _Woah_ , easy,” Erik laughs, catching him by the shoulders and settling him back at centre. Sasha grins sheepishly and scrambles up to straddle Erik’s thighs.

“Prepare for this to be a lot less impressive,” he warns casually, plucking at Erik’s waistband.

Erik grins and rolls his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

“Mmm,” Sasha shakes his head, pulling down Erik’s boxers to expose his dick, thick and swollen and leaking at the tip. “Get ready for the most adequate hand job ever.”

Erik hisses when Sasha gets a hand on him, hips pushing up a little. Desperate already.

“Maybe I’ve never had an adequate hand job,” Erik rambles as Sasha touches him experimentally. “Maybe this about to be my big sexual awakening.”

Sasha freezes despite himself, and Erik fixes him with a look.

“Sasha,” Erik says slowly. “I’ve had an adequate hand job before. More than once.”

“Okay good. I mean of course you have. Who hasn’t, right?”

“Sasha,” Erik repeats, growing curious now. “Are you nervous about giving me an adequate hand job?”

“Can we just stop saying ‘adequate hand job’?” Sasha tightens his grip in the hopes of distracting Erik from his line of thought. “That was mean to be a joke, and it’s starting to sound not-very-sexy now.”

“I’m just saying I’m more than excited to receive an adequa-”

The thing that finally gets Erik to shut up is Sasha’s tongue in his mouth, and that’s only temporary - he gets back to groaning soon enough as Sasha moves his hand faster, tighter around him. Not bad, but everything’s feeling a touch dry, actually, so Sasha releases Erik’s dick to lean over and flail around his bedside table.

“Lube,” he says when his hand closes around it, sitting back over Erik and squeezing out a healthy dose into his palm. He grabs Erik’s dick again, a no-nonsense grip that clearly means very sexy business.

Erik grins and rocks his hips up into Sasha’s slick fingers. “See? Already getting all fancy on me here with the lube. We’re shooting _right_ past adequate.”

“When did you get that smart mouth, huh?” Sasha growls, leaning over him. “Thought I was the big talker here.”

Erik is silent around a small groan for a second, mouth dropping open as Sasha catches him with a twist on the upstroke.

“Ah,” he gasps finally, eyes dark and satisfied. “Dunno. Looks like you’re rubbing off on me.”

Sasha is startled into laughing, grinning hugely like an idiot because he is completely - stupidly - charmed by the terrible one-liner, something light unfurling in his chest at the pure intimacy of laughter during sex.

“Jesus, guy’s a fucking comedian now.”

“Only for you,” Erik murmurs, right before Sasha leans down and kisses him. 

He slides closer until he’s right up in Erik’s lap, bending forward to press him down against the bed with his hand still moving between them, sliding slick and hot and somewhat distracted by the way Erik is kissing him back, groaning up into Sasha’s mouth. Erik’s legs are restless underneath him, thighs flexing up as his heels dig in against the mattress. It’s almost enough to unseat Sasha. It reminds him, of all things, of the little wrestling matches they like to get into, hands all over each other and Erik’s insane strength taking him off his feet. Erik still hasn’t let him win even once. Sasha gets his revenge now by biting at Erik’s mouth and snaking one hand down to tug at his balls, one knuckle back behind them to tease against his taint.

“Hngghh,” is the noise Erik makes in response to that - the sound completely undignified, and Sasha smiles wide. Uses his fingers to draw it out again. Like this, Erik is…. Erik is everything, fuck, the hottest thing Sasha’s ever seen, and hotter still when he sounds like _that_ \- unrefined and graceless and fucking turned on. The raw, unfiltered want in his voice hits Sasha right in the chest, makes him want to sink his teeth in. To crack open Erik’s chest and crawl in next to his heart.

“Fuck, m’not gonna last,” Erik pants as Sasha sets to chewing on his neck. His cheeks are red over his beard, his voice choked and his fingers straining at the bedsheets, at Sasha’s back, digging against skin. It’s so hot that it’s got Sasha chubbing up a little again, his still-aching dick trying valiantly to rejoin the party. Sasha rubs himself mindlessly against the thigh he’s straddling and tucks his mouth up against Erik’s ear. 

“Want it. Wanna see, fuck, Erik let me see you lose it. Please.”

Erik’s eyes flick up to lock on his, looking almost startled, wide and open and dark. Sasha smiles, fingers tightening in the pillow next to Erik’s head as Erik’s hands lock down on him, digging bruises into his ass as Erik thrusts up, fucking Sasha’s hand, groaning and tilting his head back and coming. Not looking away once. Sasha tilts forward to press their foreheads together, jerks Erik through it with a hand wet from his come and it’s cheesy and obscene and fucking amazing, Erik’s eyes on his, Erik’s nose brushing softly against his own. Sasha has beard burn on his chin and love bites on his neck and cum on his thigh, and he’s feeling pretty thoroughly well fucking fucked. 

“So we’re doing that another fifty times now, right?” he asks, collapsing against Erik’s chest.

Erik laugh-groans and pats at his hair. “Maybe give me ten minutes for a nap and then we can talk about the boner you’re rubbing against my thigh. Not all of us have that refractory period Sash.”

“Mmm,” Sasha hums, settling in, except for the come-streaked hand he’s holding out awkwardly. He finally thinks _fuck it_ and wipes his palm against the bedspread, figuring that he’ll be washing the sheets after this anyway.

“That was fucking gross,” Erik grumbles, but he doesn’t stop holding him to his chest, so it’s not like he’s really bothered.

They drift like that - Erik probably actually trying to sleep while Sasha entertains himself with the texture of his dark chest hair, running careful fingers up from Erik’s ribs to the taut skin just under his nipple.

“I thought we were letting me sleep,” Erik rumbles, more of a buzz under Sasha’s ear than actual noise. “Quit teasing.”

Sasha turns to press his lips against Erik’s sternum in apology, but now that he knows Erik is awake he can’t hold it in anymore.

“Can I ask you something?”

Erik slits eyes open to look at him, waiting.

“Am I pack?” he blurts.

Both of Erik’s eyebrows go up his forehead. 

“Of course you are.”

Sasha nods, getting up on one elbow so he can meet Erik’s gaze. “‘Cuz I’m team?”

Brown eyes cut away and then back, something nameless behind them. Erik shifts, one hand moving to grip at Sasha’s forearm like he needs the grounding touch. 

“It’s… not exactly like that, no. I mean, of course I fight hard for the team, I want to win with them, I work hard for them, so in a lot of ways it’s pack- _like,_ but it’s not…”

He blows out a breath, gaze ticking up to the ceiling again for a second before it comes back to land on Sasha.

“It’s enough, okay? Don’t get me wrong. But it’s not pack. Not everyone. There are a couple guys, I mean they’re older, they’ve been here longer. They get it. With those guys around it’s… tolerable. Closer to what a pack should be. But I mean _you_ , Sasha, once I got over…”

Erik trails off and Sasha lets out a breath, squeezing past his aching heart. Crawls closer.

“What?” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Erik rubs one hand over his brow before he lets it fall limp back to the bed. 

“It’s just… Y’know. You’re really fucking something, Sasha. I mean, obviously I thought you were fucking with me at first, with the whole…” he waves a hand at Sasha’s face, “… friendly idiot routine.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Sasha complains lightly, smiling.

“Come on,” Erik says back. “Like. Here’s this new guy, he doesn’t have a single good reason to want to talk to me but won’t stop goddamn staring at my wolf like he’s never seen one before-”

“I wasn’t _that bad_ Erik.”

“Oh you _so_ were, and it only got worse when you opened your mouth. I couldn’t get you to shut your trap for trying, and of course you had to be _funny_ about it too,” he says, voice soft and teasing.

“Honestly, I was just waiting for you to get bored. Figured you were either looking to goad me into snapping, or else you were just too stupid to know any better.” Erik smiles and gets a hand in Sasha’s hair when he rolls his eyes, presses his fingers gently against Sasha’s temple and continues. “But then it didn’t stop. You just kept smiling at me - kept sitting next to me and being polite to Taiga and getting all up in my face like you didn’t know how to be afraid.”

And Sasha has to lean forward to interrupt him then, to kiss the thought right off of his mouth.

“I would never be afraid of you,” he whispers, close and serious. “No one should ever be afraid of you.”

Erik kisses him back, eyes crinkling as Sasha thumbs at the thin skin underneath them, but there’s still a hint of _something_ behind it when he says, “Yeah, well.”

“Well nothing,” Sasha tells him fiercely. “I’ll fucking fight whoever disagrees with me. I’ll fight _you_.”

“Yeah?” Erik smiles, palms sweeping over Sasha’s bare back. “That’ll show me.”

“Fuck yeah it will,” Sasha grins back. “Hey, I’m allowed to say that you’re pack too, right?”

Sasha didn’t think it was possible, but Erik’s eyes soften even further.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah you can say that. Though I’m hoping you’ll also say we’re a little bit more than that.”

The grin that splits Sasha’s face feels big enough to fall right off. 

“Playing favourites already are we?” he teases, leaning down again. “That’s good though, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I already like you more than anyone else.”

Just as he’d hoped, the tiniest red blush appears over the bridge of Erik’s nose, painting his cheeks as he ducks his head down next to Sasha’s. Fits his mouth up next to Sasha’s ear and confesses, “I like you more than anyone else too.”

Sasha feels heat rush over his face to match Erik’s, just as fucking gone, and he kisses Erik to cover for it, or maybe just to admit to it all over again.

“God we’re fucking adorable,” Sasha says when they finally break for air, lips wet and buzzing, and Erik huffs out a surprised laugh against him. Stares up at Sasha with his stupid beautiful twinkling eyes.

“As cute as that was though,” Sasha continues, biting his lip against a smile. “I think ‘Come over here and sex me up, big boy’ is gonna have to be our ‘Always’. There’s just a certain ring to it, y’know?”

Erik groans, looking up past his face to the ceiling. Sasha cackles and kisses his neck again, just ‘cuz it’s _there,_ all out on display for him.

“God, it really never stops does it,” Erik says long-sufferingly, pushing up into the touch. Sasha smiles and catches his skin between his teeth.

“You know you love it,” he says. “Besides, where’s the fun in stopping?”

Erik’s got no argument for that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cut to Taiga in the living room eating the couch cushions out of boredom (and no small amount of disdain for this truly godawful piece of furniture)*
> 
> La fin! Thank you all for your wonderful comments/feedback throughout on this one! This was my first multi-chaptered hockey fic and I had a lot of fun with it. And man, has it been such a trip to get to share my OCs and get such lovely reactions (on this, and my other work)! Sorry if that's too gushy/cheesy haha, but I felt like it had to be said at some point!!  
>   
> I very likely won't have anything else finished for a good few months now, but you're welcome to join me for some behind the scenes antics on [twitter](https://twitter.com/7sevener) if that's your scene.  
>   
> Hope y'all liked this ending! :) It kind of came out of nowhere for me and extended this chapter much further than expected (hence the length, and yes, I'm aware of the irony. Sasha's not the only one who got edged by surprise here lol). As always, comments and kudos are so, so appreciated! Happy winter :-)


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